


A Place Darker Still

by ScarletteStar1



Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, Ethanessa, F/M, Multi, Polyamory, Victorian Times, Victorian erotica, also Gladys is there somehow?, god I hate that mrs poole, let's do nasty things to mrs poole, malnessa, why doesn't the entire world see what a beautiful ship maleness is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-05-24 08:24:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14951108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletteStar1/pseuds/ScarletteStar1
Summary: "I have run from the darkness for so long, only to find myself in a place darker still." -- Vanessa to Ethan, end of Season Two.Vanessa has explained to Ethan that she will never leave Sir Malcolm, not ever, that their souls are so complexly woven together they could not be separated even if they desired or tried. And yet, she loves Ethan as well. In this canon divergence, the story of Vanessa and Sir Malcolm's twisted relationship is told. As Vanessa races to save Sir Malcolm from demonic memories and intentions, there are dark forces at play, as the past catches up to the present and determines all of their futures.





	1. Chapter 1

_**“Was our love to strong to die?** _   
_**Or were we just to weak to kill it?” — August & September by The The** _

 

In a dark moment, he tried to make a deal with the Devil.

For her, he tried.

Tried and failed.

He was not a man accustomed to compromise, and yet. . . here he was, in a stoney room in a stoney mansion, all his cards laid before him. The end game. “You will leave her be,” he said. “You will harm not a single hair on her head, and I will walk with you until the twilight of time.” He defined the terms of his deal.

“She was always your favorite,” the evil woman purred. “It is good we care for our daughters.”

His breath burned, a shallow growl in his throat. Was his love for Vanessa the love of father for favorite daughter? Or did he feel something more akin to desperate need, the hopeless despair a drowning man has for a burst of air before he gasps his very last and his lungs fill with water? Surely the latter. He knew it, knew it only now and yet, he vowed to walk with death and thereby forsake any chance of breathing with her, if only she would be saved.

“These are my terms,” he said. How had it not occurred to him sooner? He cursed himself. If only he’d known; if only he’d told her. Could things have been different?

“She means that much to you?” Evelyn crooned. He hated how her dark eyes glinted with genuine surprise.

“She means all.” He said definitively. He said it with purpose and intent. He said it the way he said things at the helm of a ship, at the front of an expedition. He said it as though with rifle in hand he could claim the life of the largest and most powerful creature on earth. He said it with authority that could not possibly be denied.

And yet, she denied him.

“Sadly, Darling, it is the one thing I cannot do. She is not mine to trifle with, Sir Malcolm. Goods and services, as it were. Master wants her and so shall he have her. But I think if you hear me out, you’ll understand the full persuasion of my offer. I am certain you will want to walk by my side of your own volition. What could that silly girl offer you anyway? What could she possibly possess that could enchant a man of such mature sensibilities and refined tastes? Hmmm? Now now,” at this she tucked her fingers under the lapels of Sir Malcolm’s coat and stroked up and down. “I know so well what this man likes.”

“You conniving, shriveled, _old_ witch,” Sir Malcolm spat with an emphasis on the word _old_. Her face twitched in a barely perceptible spasm. “Yes. I know your foul secret. The stench of death and decay hangs off of you like spiders from a web. Anything you thought I liked was no more than one of your ill conceived glamours. The thought that I could harbor any feeling for the likes of you is repulsive at best.”

“Hah!” Evelyn chortled. The room bounced with the light of several dozen candles, all held in old, ornate iron stands.

A weaker man would have been frightened by the ghoulish shadows and by her hollow laughter, but not he. Even the fire in the hearth seemed to leap at her breath as though being beckoned by a hellish force, but he sat quite still in his throne. He noted also that the room was chill, that for all the flames and for the roaring fire, it was cool as a tomb. How he yearned for the cozy parlor of Grandage Place. How he cursed himself for driving Vanessa from there, from the home they had come to share. The house had been mournfully empty without her in it. He’d not predicted this. He was a man utterly at ease with himself, with being alone, and yet when she’d taken her leave, he’d found himself more lost within the confines of his own domicile than he’d ever been in any jungle or desert. She’d left him because he’d turned away from her, and even as he cursed himself for his betrayal now, he realized that he himself had been cursed by the woman in front of him.

“Your curse has been quite broken. I see clearly now what you are. And what you have done.” He said.

“You know not what you say, my love.”

“Oh, but I do.”

“Then more’s your sorrow.” She pounced forward and landed on her knees before him so her face was within a breath of his own. “You’ve always had such a fascination with Miss Ives.”

“Yes.”

“One might say it is almost un- natural.”

“Oh? Is that so?”

  
“Yes. Quite. You sat with her father as her mother birthed her, did you not?”

“I did.” He remembered the cigars and brandy and laughter in front of a much different fire than the one he currently sat before, as though it were yesterday. He remembered hearing the shrill wail of Vanessa’s first cries, and slapping her father on the back in the drunken, congratulatory way men had that made them feel they had accomplished something magnificent when really they’d done nothing at all.

“And you watched her grow? Bought her ribbons for her hair? Brought her treasures from darkest Africa? Treated her as you treated your own?”

“Did I? What of it?” He recalled the homecoming the year Vanessa had turned sixteen. Two years, he’d been away. When he left, she’d been a child. He returned and she was a young woman. She’d swelled in hip and breast, but remained lithe in leg. There was a far away enchantment to her eyes, and a lusty plumpness to her lips. After the party, she’d found him unpacking in his study as everyone else chatted and drank and nibbled cake in the parlor.

 _What are you doing here, Child?_ He had asked. It was rare for anyone to breach the perimeter of his inner sanctum. _Why aren’t you playing and eating cake with the others?_

 _I’m sixteen now, Sir Malcolm, a bit old for games_. She’d giggled, but her voice had deepened considerably. She wore a long, lavender dress with cream colored lace at her breast, which he noticed became her very much. Her dark hair had been swept up into a more mature style, but little curls had fallen out and framed her face. He admired the flush in her cheeks as she approached him where he stood behind his desk. She was all the colors of sunset in a garden. He suddenly realized how very homesick he had been. The sensation of it gripped him with a ferocity that made him almost weak, and he put a hand on his great desk to steady himself, as he wondered how he could be home and so violently homesick all at once. _Did you bring me a present?_ She asked.

 _Too old for parlor games but not too old for presents? Well then, it’s a good thing I have brought you something after all._ He said with a smile that couldn’t be helped. _Something very special._ He picked a small thing, wrapped in a cloth out of a leather satchel on his desk and put it behind his back. _Come here, now. Guess which hand._

 _Didn’t I just tell you I’m too old for games?_ She laughed, but she pointed at his right shoulder. He raised his eyebrows, grinned and pulled his hand out to show her it was empty. _The other one then_ , she said in mock exasperation.

 _Ahhh, here you go,_ he said and handed her the parcel. She unwrapped it cautiously, her eyes flitting back and forth between him and the trinket. The whole while, he stood there smiling with the glorious suspense and loveliness of the moment. At last she pulled out what looked to be a cloudy rock. _It is a raw diamond. Roughly forty carats, I’d guess. It might not look like very much to the untrained eye, but I assure you, it is a treasure. Priceless. I had to smuggle it out of Africa for you._

 _Ohh!_ She gasped, and turned it over and over in her hands. She ran her fingers over the rough edges. She held it up to the light and peered into it from every possible angle, eyes wide, and then clutched it against her heart. _Are you certain this is for me, Sir Malcolm?_

_Very certain, Vanessa. I plucked it out of a cave of wonders with my own hands. Just for you._

_Can that be true?_

_Yes indeed._

_And you plucked it out yourself? With these hands?_ With her empty hand she reached out and took hold of his hand, laced her fingers in his and held it up between them.

 _These very ones, my dear_. He said and smiled at her again. He squeezed her hand with his and tried to let it go. He tried to think of questions to ask her about what she had been up to while he was away, about her frolics with Mina, about the horses, about anything. But he found his hand and words failing him. He chalked it up to a traveler’s weariness.

 _Then I thank you. It is incredible._ She beamed up at him. Had her lashes always been so dark and thick, he wondered. And her skin so pale and clear?

_I’m glad you like it, he chuckled._

_Shall I thank you properly? With a kiss?_ Without waiting for his response, she took a step to close the gap between them. One step was all it took. Had they actually been standing that close to one another that entire time? Yes, oh yes. She put her hand on his shoulder, a touch light as English sunshine in spring, a touch so very foreign from the glare and gore of Africa. Though she had grown, she still stood head and shoulders shorter than he, and as he looked down upon her, he caught the full view of her downy breast, framed by lace and lavender. He found one of his hands on the small of her back, and the other on her neck, drawing her closer, closer still. She smelled of lilac, a scent he would forever associate with her from that moment on. His fingers had tangled in the little curls on her neck and she was so tiny in his arms, his hand covered nearly all of her waist.

She’d closed her eyes and thrown back her head in a gesture that was at once innocent and romantic. It might have made him laugh, had he not caught her pulse throb in her neck on his thumb and wanted for all his life to plant his mouth over it. It was no laughing matter. No indeed. _You’ve grown lovely, Vanessa, while I’ve been away. Or shall I call you Miss Ives now? I’m sure many a suitor will come to call on you, if they haven’t already._

Her eyes popped open and startled him with their sudden cerulean assessment. _Do you not want to kiss me then, Sir Malcolm?_

 _Oh, Vanessa_ , he sighed and drew her closer to him. Through the silky material of her gown he could feel the nubile solidity of her body, waif like and firm all at once. Or was it he who was firm? He who’s thighs had grown hard as rocks traipsing the globe. God help him, he pressed himself against her and nuzzled his face against her cheek. _I want to kiss you very much._

  
_You must do it then._

_I must not._

_Then allow me,_ she whispered into his ear which was next to her own mouth. The sensation of her breath in the little cave of his ear flooded him with urgent desire. She brought her hands to cup his face and stood on her tiptoes so her face reached his. And with her sweet, plump, young lips, she kissed him. It lasted but a moment, because in ardent lust, he groaned and startled her. Frightened, she pushed off him and stepped back, for, however a sixteen year old girl thought she knew of these relations, she truly did not. She smiled wildly and ran from his study, her fist full of a rare and extravagant diamond, and left him with his leather bags, and his swollen cock, which strained at his khakis.

“Even now, the thought of her makes you tumescent, does it not? The stolen kiss? The scent of lilac?”

Lilac. The blessing and the curse of lilac. Forever Vanessa. Forever lilac. Even during the years he loathed her to his bones, he would catch a waft of the flower and it would stir him. He’d had all the lilac bushes on his property in the country chopped down to prove a point, but he couldn’t escape the fragrance everywhere and parts of him didn’t even want to.

“You know nothing,” he hissed, feeling disoriented and tight in his throat.

“Hmmm,” she sighed and stood. She paced several times before the fire and then circled Sir Malcolm. “You were so close for so long. Can you be so sure she isn’t actually. . . your own?”

“You loathsome, hateful, wicked cunt. How I would delight in watching you bleed a slow, gruesome death.”

“Oh! My tiger has brought his claws! And you certainly would know all about inflicting slow, gruesome deaths, would you not?” Her lips stretched over her pale face in a strange smile. “You know, darling, a lesser woman might be cross at such nastiness. But not I, my love. No. Not I. I actually feel sorry for you.”

Sir Malcolm stood at this, trying to get his feet under him and wondering why the room seemed to rock and waver as though he were aboard a ship.

“Even now as you bask in your sweet remembrances, she feels nothing for you, and thinks nothing of you. Miss Ives is dancing over the moors with her young Mr. Chandler.”

“You know nothing,” he said again and straightened to his full height so he towered over her.

“But you’re wrong again. I do know things. All. Sorts. Of. Things.” Her sing song voice was practically gleeful and it brought bile to Sir Malcolm’s throat and made the hair rise on the back of his neck.

“How could the likes of you know what Miss Ives and I share?” He strained to maintain his focus as her as she wavered before him.

“My daughters and I have certain powers, powers we will share with you when you join us.”

“That will never happen so long as there is breath in my body,” he swore vehemently.

“Have it your way then. By the looks of you, there is not much breath left in your body. Again, it is just so sad. Well.” She raised her hands in front of her in a gesture that might have been made by a hostess at a garden party when saying farewell to guests. “I’ll leave you with your memories.” In a swish of black taffeta she was gone from the room, and as the door slammed shut behind her, all of the candles suddenly extinguished themselves, but instead of the scent of smoke, the room was flooded with the overwhelming aroma of lilac.

Sir Malcolm rushed to the door and pulled at it in vain. As he lost consciousness and sank to the floor, the last thing of which he was aware was lilac.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we find Ethan and Vanessa on the moors, and Vanessa has a premonition about the safety (or lack thereof) of Sir Malcolm. . .

“What is it, Van?” 

Vanessa had sprung from her seat by the fire where she was mending one of Ethan’s shirts. She went to the door and peeked out into the inky night, then slammed the door shut and clutched at her stomach and chest. She paced the length of the cottage. She raced up the stairs and allowed her fingers to flutter over the talismans that hung from the rafters, left to her so long ago by the Cutwife. She scowled and descended the stairs. She bit her thumb. 

“Hey there.” Ethan attempted to catch her in his embrace, but like a fickle cat she evaded him. “Vanessa what is going on? Tell me and I’ll help.”

She looked at him as though she’d not heard a word he’d spoken, as though she’d just awoken from deep slumber. “A darkness has fallen over my heart, Ethan. I feel it like the chill of clouds passing before the sun on a summer morning.”

“Okay,” he said slowly. “What does it mean?”

“He’s in danger. I must go to him immediately. Sir Malcolm needs me.”

Ethan sighed and then checked himself, but it was pointless. Vanessa was not paying attention to him. “First thing in the morning,” he said. “We’ll leave.”

This got her attention. Her head snapped to look at him. “No,” she said. She had opened the wide mouth of her carpet bag and was already tossing things in. “We go now.”

“Vanessa. It will be far safer to travel by morning light.” His words fell on deaf ears.

“We go now,” she said again, but this time in a more soft, almost distracted manner as she continued her packing. “You can come with me or you can stay, but I will leave tonight.” 

Without another word, Ethan grabbed his belt and strapped it on. He loaded both of his guns and slid them into the tooled, leather holsters. It was strange to feel their weight on his hips again. He’d nearly grown accustomed to the freedom of life without them during the weeks he and Vanessa had been on the moors. Although in some ways their lives had taken on an austerity in the old cottage, there was a decadence to the endless time they had spent in one another’s company. He approached her from behind and put his hands on her hips. She did not stop folding the skirts she had in her hand, or even acknowledge him in any way. “Hey,” he said and turned her around so she had no choice but to face him. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I know you’re worried, but you don’t even know what’s going on. Can’t we spend one more night, here? Just the two of us?” 

She frowned and her brow wrinkled. “Ethan,” she began firmly. “Part of being here is that there is a clarity to my heart and soul. The things that I know become vividly evident. I feel Sir Malcolm as though he is in my own skin, suffering. His pain is my own. Would you have me stay and suffer a moment longer than is necessary when I have a chance to stop it?”

“Of course not,” he said and hung his head. 

She reached up and touched his cheek. “I understand it is hard to leave, for I also feel your pain as my own, but he is in danger and I must be with him now. Please understand I would do the same for you.” He nodded and she briefly laid her cheek against his heart. He wrapped his arms around her in an embrace that lasted but a moment before she resumed her packing. “We’ll walk to the nearest town and arrange for a carriage to take us back.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Ethan said. Whatever spell they’d been caught in over the past weeks had been broken and there was almost a businesslike efficiency to their travel preparations as they moved around one another in the cottage. Within an hour, they had packed what they needed and bolted the door of their refuge behind them. They walked in the dark in silence, and although they were close enough together for their shoulders to brush against each other, Ethan felt very alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Comments are my life force, so please feel free to leave one and I will respond in kind. xoxoxo.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we go back in time to sunnier days when a young Vanessa visits Sir Malcolm in his study. . .

“Hello there Darling,” he cooed. It was a voice not many had heard from the stoic and sunburnt explorer. So much sweeter and softer than the tone with which he commanded his minions.

“Sir Malcolm,” Vanessa breathed as though she had run all the way to his study from her own home, which she very likely had. She stood in the doorway until he gestured that she might enter.

“I was just thinking of you.”

“And I of you.”

“Oh, how precious you are,” he said. He meant it. He absolutely meant what he said, but they were also surprising words to come from his stiff lips. “Are you hiding something behind your back?”

“I must confess, I’d hoped you were out so I could return this unnoticed, as I had borrowed it unnoticed,” she said, her head cast down and eyes cast up in a fetching manner.

“Vanessa,” he said sternly. “What is it?” From behind her back, she brought out a book and held it to him. “You’ve been reading Livingstone’s book about the Dark Continent?” His face twisted into a mix of confusion and amusement. “Not a very appropriate tome for a young lady, I’m afraid,” he said.

“Are you angry?”

“No,” he chuckled as he took the book from her hands and put it into a place on a shelf with its brethren. “Though I did think stealing was against the code well established by your Roman church.”

“I didn’t steal it. I simply borrowed it,” she smiled and swayed her hips so her dress swished anxiously side to side. “Forgive me?”

“Of course I forgive you. But we might as well keep this between us, eh? I don’t think your parents would be very happy with me if they knew I was allowing you the liberties of my library.” Young ladies of her class were meant for dancing and needlework, possibly the piano, but not scholarly pursuits, and certainly not the grisly details of African exploration. Vanessa had an odd mix of fair femininity and academic curiosity that compelled Sir Malcolm to explore her further.

“Very well,” she smiled. “It will be our secret.” She wanted to add that it would be yet another of the secrets they seemed to be amassing daily, but she got distracted by the way his eyes twinkled at her.

“What did you think of it?”

“Hmm?”

“The book? What did you think of it?” He raised his eyebrows.

“Honestly?” She whispered, her eyes darted around the room as though worried someone would intrude upon the secret declaration she was about to make. “I found it fascinating! That men can become so bewitched with a river, oh it’s fantastic isn’t it? To be so single-mindedly passionate about something that one is willing to brave savages and canibals and disease. But it did make me wonder. . .”

“And what did it make you wonder, Miss Ives?”

“Well, is that what it feels like for you? That obsession?”

He sat down in the chair behind his desk. No one had ever asked him such a brazen question before, not even his children or Gladys. Certainly not Gladys. He considered the question as he considered the questioner. She stood before him, awaiting his answer with a still patience, her hands pressed into the blue silk of her day dress at her hips. “It is a quest unlike any other,” he began, forcing his eyes to rise from her hands and hips to her face. “To imagine one’s own name attached to the conquest of such an elusive mystery, well, it does something to a man. Yes, I suppose obsession is as good a word as any.”

“Then I am very glad indeed that I read it.”

“Are you?”

“Yes. It has helped me know and understand you just a bit more.” She attempted to make her smile shy and innocent, but in reality, her feelings for the man before her were much more complex. “The stories you share with us when you come back home are filled with color and vivacious anecdotes, but I’ve always had the impression there is a deeper truth to your travels, and a darker side to your life when you are away from us, Sir Malcolm. I feel there are things you hide away from us. Secret things. Things you might not want any of us to know?”

“Child,” he said. “Do you forget your place?”

“Not at all,” she said without blinking. “My place is here. Near you. I’m drawn to it, to the depth and darkness in you. I’d like to know it better, to know it well, even.”

“I am not sure it is fitting for you to speak to me in such a bold manner.” He managed to get the words out with what he hoped was a balance of strict voice and good humor.

“And yet you can call me Darling and Precious? Seems a bit of a double standard to me. Does it not seem so to you?” She crossed over the carpet of his study and stared up at the books on his shelves. He watched her do this with his mouth slightly open, trying to decide if he would smile or command her to leave at once. She looked over her shoulder at him. One of her hands lingered on the spine of a book and he felt her touch as though on his own bones. “You are not accustomed to people speaking back to you. And certainly not the fairer sex? Is this true?”

He rose from his seat and straightened his morning jacket with a curt tug. “What game do you play at here, Vanessa?”

“It is no game. Don’t you remember? I’m too old for games now. I told you so. Or have you forgotten already, the night you kissed me?”

“Could I forget such a thing, do you think?” In fact, the memory of her lips alighting upon his ever so briefly had haunted him for the past several weeks since it had occurred. He’d tried convincing himself it had been a dream, or a silly fantasy of his fatigue, but here she was now, in the flesh with the same garnet lips grinning at him. They stood apart from one another on the carpet, and yet he felt her in his arms. He felt her supple flesh beneath his own, her juicy lips under his. He felt her breath in his own lungs. Her heart beat in his own chest. He grew dizzy with it. “What have you done, Girl?” He whispered. At this, her typically flirtatious face turned grim. She felt it too, the intense undercurrent of desire.

“I- I don’t know,” she stammered. A sudden weakness in her legs made her tremble. She leaned against the book case as though she might fall.

“You’re pale,” Sir Malcolm said, genuine concern in his voice as he rushed to steady her. He caught her under her elbow and helped her into a nearby chair. “A drink to steady the nerves, eh?” He sloshed some brown liquid into two crystal cups and handed one to her. She took an enthusiastic sip and choked as it burned her throat. Plaintive, violet eyes peered up at him in pained confusion. “Oh dear. I suppose you aren’t used to spirits,” he said as he tossed his back with a greedy gulp. He poured himself another and consumed it just as quickly.

“I suppose not,” she said and tried to smile. While she had certainly indulged in wine at recent dinner parties, a mid-morning brandy was far from the norm for Vanessa, but oddly, the shocking sting of alcohol had done something to bring her back to her senses. He pulled a chair up so he could sit close to her.

“Does your mother know you’re here?”

“No.”

“And Mina?”

“Your little nightingale is involved in a voice lesson,” Vanessa answered. She still held the glass and took another tiny sip which this time warmed rather than burned her inside.

“Vanessa,” he began and realized he had no words with which to complete his sentence. “Whatever will we do?”

Touched by the sincerely confused and tormented look that had passed over his face, Vanessa reached out and put her hand on his arm. She was surprised by the rough fibers of his jacket; they were so very alien from the silks, satins, and laces she dressed herself in. She increased the pressure on his arm to feel the muscle of the man beneath the fabric, and was surprised by the sinews of hard flesh. She watched her hand move over him in a daze, then looked up to find he was watching her as she caressed him. It was a gesture that seemed, in the light of day, as bold as her words had seemed only moments before, and yet it provided an odd comfort to them both. “I don’t know,” she replied.

The heavy, rust colored curtains of his study were drawn back and sunlight streamed into the room. The door was open. There was incredible vulnerability in the light on their skin, in the sense of air drifting through the open door, and yet there was also a sense that they existed beyond light or air or others entirely.

“What did you do with the diamond?” Sir Malcolm asked.

Vanessa swallowed and he watched the delicate bob of her throat as she did so. “I put it away,” she said. “Someplace safe. And secret. I didn’t want anyone else to see it, for some reason. I wanted only my eyes and your eyes alone to have looked upon the thing.”

“Darling girl,” he whispered.

“Yes,” she whispered back and he decided then and there that it was the most exquisite syllable in the universe to hear her say yes. It was not a word he typically waited for, nor was it a word with which he particularly bothered, but for some reason, with her, it would be different.

“Do I frighten you?”

“No.”

“Not at all?”

“I’ve known you since I was a child, Sir Malcolm. Why would you frighten me?”

“I think you know.”

“Do I?”

“Yes. I think you do. I think it is why you ran off when I kissed you that night. Things change. You are no longer a child. You’ve told me so yourself, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” she said and leaned closer to him. She smelled the sandalwood of his soap on his skin and the brandy on his breath. She recognized an urge to place her head on his shoulder, just to see what it would feel like. So she did it, and found it felt like she would need to pray on her knees for many a time later. She nestled her cheek against him to stir his scent, as though crushing a flower bed, and she inhaled deeply. She tilted her face up. His eyes were closed. His mouth was slightly open. Her lips were so very near his neck, where it was freshly shaved, smooth and fleshy. She touched it with her fingertips and then with her lips. He uttered a quiet moan into the sunlight adding minutes, hours, days to her penance. She would need to ask forgiveness. She kissed his skin again, and then he lowered his face to devour the bursting raspberries of her lips. This time, when his breath came hard on her face, and when he groaned, she did not flee. She simply strung bead upon bead onto the rosary she would need to pray later. She licked his lips with her tongue and opened her mouth wide so he could taste her, so they could both discover they both tasted the same, of brandy and heat and curious wanting.

When they stopped their kiss, they pressed their foreheads together, unable to still their breath, unable to still their hearts which raced to the triple beats of _forgive me, forgive me, forgive me_. It would become the theme of their relationship for years to come, the urgent doing of things, and the futile begging of forgiveness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I love and live for comments so please feel free to let me know what you are thinking! I try to respond to each and every comment I receive. xoxoxo.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we are back in the present and things take a, shall we say, different turn, as Vanessa and Ethan travel back to London. . .

The carriage jostled its occupants as it clattered on toward London. 

Ethan had fallen asleep. Vanessa felt his frustration, even as he slept. It kept her awake, as did her preoccupation with whatever state into which Sir Malcolm had fallen. Her connection to his danger faded in and out, but with no such predictability as a tide. Every now and again she would find herself shocked by a sense of fear so cold she was certain a part of her own body had gone dead. Ethan’s irritation proved an almost relaxing distraction from the anxious anticipation she felt regarding whatever twisted fate awaited them in London. 

Vanessa considered Ethan’s sleeping face. He frowned and grumbled slightly in his slumber. She wondered if it was wrong to have brought him with her to the moors. The arrangement had been difficult on all of them, but most of all on Ethan. Over the course their lives had taken, she and Sir Malcolm had been so accustomed to sharing one another, it had not seemed too far a stretch for either of them to allow Ethan a relationship with Vanessa. But for Ethan it had proved somewhat more challenging and had served to accentuate his conventional side. 

“He is the only man I have ever felt for to such depth,” she had explained to Ethan one evening over cordials after a show. “And it is only through knowing him as I do, that I have been able to open myself to the possibility of being with and loving you, that I am even able to recognize the very feelings.”

Ethan digested the realization of what he had always sort of assumed. “Will he allow you to leave?” Ethan had asked, confused at Vanessa’s proposal. Vanessa shook her head and looked him dead on in the eyes. 

“I will not leave him, Ethan. Not ever. His soul and story are so complexly woven into mine we could not separate from one another even if we tried.”

“So what then? I’m just to be a casual fling? A secret lover? Because I don’t think I can do that, Van.”

“No,” she said. She reached out and took both of his hands in her own. “I have spoken with him, and have explained to him how I feel and what I need. But we are a tangled pair, he and I, and you need to know that being with me comes at a price. I will never be yours alone, but the parts I offer you I offer freely and completely.”

“And he’s okay with this?” Ethan asked, incredulously, as an image of Sir Malcolm making him pace off in a sunrise duel in the courtyard before Grandage Place filled his mind. 

“Yes.”

“Are there rules?”

“Not exactly, but we must be honest and loving most of all.”

“You’ve done this before?”

“Never,” she answered without hesitation. “I have taken other lovers, yes. As has he. We have not always been faithful or kind to one another, Sir Malcolm and I. But I have never truly loved or needed another partner as I do you, Ethan.”

“So, we just. . . share you?” 

She smiled indulgently. “It is an uncommon arrangement, I know. But we are not common people, are we? I admit I had high hopes that what you felt for me would be enough to create a yes from your lips, but I will understand if it is not for you.” She finished the remainder of her cordial and rose from her seat. “Think it over. You know where to find me when you have your answer.”

She had barely made it out the door when she felt him behind her. He caught her wrist and pulled her against him, kissed her roughly and said, “I already have my answer. I can’t live without you. You can’t live without him, so we’ll figure it out.” At that moment, in the dark as they kissed on the street, it all seemed so simple and filled with promise. There was such sweet relief to the inevitable meeting of their bodies that night in Ethan’s room, and for many nights after as they discovered one another. But by the light of day, when Vanessa dressed and returned to Grandage Place, things took on a very different tone. 

“It’s hard for me to just let you go,” he said one morning as he watched her button her coat. 

“I know,” she replied. “But we will adjust.”

“And he doesn’t care? When you’re with me?” 

“Ethan, you mustn’t concern yourself with that. When I am with you, I am with you. And when I am not with you, you are in my heart. You must trust this and only this.”

“I don’t know, Vanessa.” He rubbed his face and sank back onto his pillows. 

Perhaps it had been wrong for her to invite him to journey with her to Ballentree Moor. Perhaps she’d given him a false impression. It was true she’d been furious with Sir Malcolm when they had left, and she had escaped London to more or less lick her wounds someplace far from him. She’d perceived his dalliance with Mrs. Poole as a betrayal of the coldest kind, and although she had hidden it from Ethan, she had wept at the realization that she and Sir Malcolm were still so adept at hurting one another. But as angry as she had been, she always knew she would return to him. It was their way. 

Ethan did not understand it. He could not for the life of him comprehend how two people could continue to harm each other in such vicious ways, and yet return like the tide to the shore of the same embrace. He didn’t know. How could he know? He hadn’t been there in the heart of the maze, in the middle of the night, in the heat of summer. No. That had been Vanessa and Sir Malcolm alone, and it was a memory she chose not to share with anyone, not even Ethan. 

Had Ethan thought perhaps Vanessa leaving London with him was a sign of some sort, an omen that their relationship would take a different path? Vanessa sighed and bit her lip, trying not to become too ensnared in the web of jealousy and pride. 

The further she travelled from the moor, the harder her heart ached for Joan Clayton. She smiled and rolled her eyes, imagining the salty words her old friend would have had for her now, the colorful names she would have called Vanessa for taking to bed two such complicated men. But her smile quickly faded as she longed to put her head on Joan’s breast, to weep, to be comforted and then admonished by the warbling female voice. While she’d been in the cottage, there had been a sort of closeness to the Cutwife that defied the logic of earthly bonds. Vanessa had heard her voice so clearly. And now, as she was driven away, she found herself feeling once again lost and more alone than ever. 

As if to combat this sense of loneliness, she leaned against Ethan. In his sleep, he tossed an arm around her. She kissed his cheek, half hoping he would wake, but he did not. And so she sat, jostled and alone. She shut her eyes, to try to sleep, to try to shut out the feelings of everyone else and just be quiet.

“But Little Scorpion,” a melodic voice said. “You are never truly alone. Don’t you know this by now?”

Vanessa’s eyes snapped back open. On the seat opposite her sat a young woman dressed in a emerald, velvet gown. Auburn curls spilled over her shoulders. “Who are you,” Vanessa demanded. 

“A messenger of Your Master,” the pale woman replied.   
“Sir Malcolm?”

“What? No! Oh no!” The woman giggled. “Although he is with us, or with Mother, should I say. He hovers a breath away from madness, ready to end his own life to make the pain cease.” She sighed emphatically, and added, “Pain you no doubt have inflicted.” 

“You know nothing,” Vanessa hissed. She began to pray. The pretty woman crinkled her nose and frowned. 

“Your Latin prayers do nothing to me, Miss Ives,” she said. “But oh, come fast. Master awaits his bride and we hunger for the wedding feast.” As her words evaporated between them, so did the night comer dissolve into the cushion of the coach. Before she disappeared completely, her hair and clothes faded and she was nude as a fish, covered in scars, and smiling with teeth so sharp they could have pierced bone. At Vanessa’s panicked gasp, Ethan stirred. 

“What is it?” His drowsy voice gave her no comfort. 

“Oh, Ethan. It is so much worse than I could have imagined.” 

The carriage clattered on, and the occupants were jostled.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we flash back to sunny days, when Mina and Vanessa played on the beach, and when Sir Malcolm tried to break things off. . . tried and failed. . .

The late morning sun was warm and bright, but the breeze off of the ocean felt cool and fresh on his skin. He stretched his legs out in the chair and raised his face to the sun. It felt good to be outdoors after being pent up in his study like a monk in a cloister. 

After his egg and toast, Sir Malcolm had decided to bring additional coffee up to his study, but had found himself restless. He’d paced the auburn, velvety confines for the better half of an hour, unable to focus on books or charts. It was unusual, very unlike him to be so distractible. He’d heard the sweet chimes of Mina’s voice in the foyer and knew she must have been greeting her dear friend, but he’d not been able to make out the lower, more dulcet tones of Vanessa’s reply. It had become customary for Vanessa to pay Mina a visit and make at least an appearance at his door, however brief. He cursed himself for growing accustomed to her little smiles and mysterious, wide eyes as he wondered what had become of her on this gorgeous morning. 

He turned to his map of Africa and stroked his finger along the river until he came to Lake Victoria, where he drew little spirals over the blue smudge with his thumb. Back when the children were younger, he’d hunted and taken a serval for Peter on the neighboring Lake Tanganyika. If he closed his eyes, he could practically smell the ripe and feral air. Like many other explorers, he’d not accepted the veracity of Speke’s discovery as the source of the Nile. He was itching to go back, to find proof to the contrary, and yet alternate forces compelled him to stay. He sighed. It was the wretched curse of the explorer to never be truly happy or at home in any one place. 

And this dalliance with young Miss Ives, if you could call it that. It certainly was a strange and awkward predicament. He scratched his beard and resumed his pacing. She had caught him off guard with her potent charms. She’d grown up and suddenly become very self assured and fetching, but it was more than that, wasn’t it? She’d almost a bewitching quality about her, something that clouded his mind and judgement when she was near to him. He’d always had a soft spot for the child, though she was no longer just a child, was she? In ways, she seemed more mature than Mina, more worldly and wise, although it was hardly possible as the two girls had been raised side by side, practically as sisters. 

Standing in a moment’s clarity he realized there could be absolutely no future in it, no consummation in any sort of a way that would bring anything other than ruin to either of them. She was so young, so innocent, and also the daughter of dear friends. It was not like he could capture her maidenhead and then set sail as he’d done with so many of those native girls. The thought occluded his otherwise clear mind with a despair and malaise that enhanced his desire to go running back to the dark continent or to another place entirely. 

His next sigh came out as more of a growl from the back of his throat as he remembered Vanessa’s lips pressed against the flesh of his neck. How their breath had beat against each other’s faces like wings of swans taking flight over a body of water, a haunting echo. They had sat, panting against one another, like that, for some time, as though caught in some sort of spell. He’d broken the spell at last, and told her to go on and find Mina, and she’d left his study.

He’d been a wreck for the rest of the week, a heated bundle of nerves. Since going to Gladys’ bed for comfort or relief was certainly not an option for him, he eventually opted to go into town and spend a few nights at the club. He shared some good meals with the fellows, caught a show, and enjoyed some female company behind the closed doors of his apartment. Even still, it proved to be of little use, and he returned back to the country house tired and irritated. 

He’d wear the carpet bare with his pacing. Perhaps a walk in the garden was what he needed, to acquire some fresh air and sunlight. As he looked to his desk for his newspaper, he heard a series of laughs ring out. He opened his window and leaned out into the salty sky. Before he could stop himself, his face broke into a boyish smile as he realized Vanessa ran in the sands below with Mina and Peter. “Delightful!” He said beneath his breath, snatched his paper and headed for the door. 

He found a seat in a chair on the grassy hill, and watched them as they ran over the beach. He’d tried reading his paper, but the wind carried their laughter up to him, and distracted him from the news. So there he was, stretched like a languid cat in the sun, paper lowered over his lap, watching bliss before him. It was enchanting, the way Vanessa’s unbound, raven hair flew about her face. Mina and Peter were so fair, so pale, and Vanessa bore a striking contrast. They were no longer children, but they skipped and chattered and splashed at one another without a care in the world, their white ankles and feet flashing in the silver water like fish. 

“It is unseemly, the interest you’ve taken in the Ives girl,” Gladys said. Her stern voice pulled him from the pleasure of his day dream into an state of instant irritation. 

“What are you doing out here, Gladys?” He huffed. 

“I could ask you the same, husband,” she said through pinched lips. 

“I thought I’d take some air and read the paper out of doors on this gorgeous morning. This is still my estate, is it not? Am I not allowed to read my paper wherever I please?”

“And as usual, the subject of your pleasure comes at the cost of my displeasure.”

“Meaning what exactly?”

“Meaning, I came to bring you the post, and find you here gazing upon her without an ounce of discretion.”

“That’s enough,” he grumbled and took the packet of letters from her outstretched hand. He flipped through them making no effort to hide his perturbation with his spouse. 

“Really, Malcolm. The visits she pays to your study are entirely improper. I shall have to speak with Mrs. Ives about it, unless you put a stop to it. Immediately.”

“Who do you think you address, woman? Vanessa has an interest in geography and is trying to better herself academically. Her visits have been innocent, and it would be unwise for you to spread such foul rumors.”

But Gladys did not heed the severely warning tone in her husband’s voice. “Is it not enough I have to endure the rumors of what you do when you are away on your grand adventures? Or your activities in town? Should I also have to put up with the servants whispering about you being indiscreet in my own home?” She hissed at him.

He stood. “Enough!” He bellowed. “And you would do well to warn any gossiping fool that they will be soundly beaten and promptly fired without a letter of reference if I hear another word of this pablum.” He snatched his paper and strode back up to his house. So much for enjoying the sun and fresh air. He would, however, have to put an end to this Vanessa situation. It would not be fitting to have people gossiping, especially since the Murrays and Ives had been such close friends all these years. He stormed back into the house and up the stairs to the cage of his study. He threw himself into the armchair in which Vanessa last sat and tried to imagine he could smell the perfume of her. Then and there he decided that on his next trip to India he would need to obtain lilac oil so he could sniff it any time of the year. 

Such petulance was not befitting of a proper man. He’d have to plan his next venture. He’d have to set sail as soon as possible. He resumed the study of him maps and attempted to lose himself in the rustling of paper. He took up his pen and began to write letters of request for porters and supplies. Before long he was into pages of books and maps as thick as if he was in the deep grass of the Serengeti. 

The knock at his door startled him.

At the sight of her, something within him leapt. Such whiteness, framed by her long, sable mane. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked, somewhat more gruff than he meant.

“Will you come for afternoon tea?” She asked, her voice made meek by his harsh manner. 

“You should not be here, Vanessa,” he said. He marked the page in his book and closed it with a distinctly rough gesture.

“Are you upset, Sir Malcolm?” She’d stepped into the room and brought with her the air of the sea, an unforgiving freshness. He roiled in its salty scent as though being dragged down in its depths. Her dress was quite wrinkled and she seemed utterly unaware of her appearance which was at once windswept and alluring. She took a step closer. She regarded him with a strange look, a questioning need in her eye, but for what he did not know. Attention? Reassurance? Touch? He did not know. 

“You’re a sight,” he said.

Suddenly conscious of herself, she smoothed her hands over her dress and a flush crept over her cheeks. “We’ve been down to the beach. Peter and Mina and I have. I found a sea star.”

He opened his mouth as though he would say something, as though he would tell her she must leave, but what came out instead was, “How enchanting. I hope you made a wish. That is what stars are for, is it not? Wishing?”

“Yes! Perhaps I did,” She said. She took another step closer. 

“Ahhh, and what did you wish for?” He’d not moved from his position beside his desk, but she took another step and had crossed the floor to meet him where he stood. 

“You’d like to know?”

“Mmmh?’

“My wish?”

“Yes.” 

She touched his elbows with her hands and stood up on her toes so her face was almost level to his. “I wished for this,” she said and pressed her mouth against his. For a moment, their lips opened and her tongue danced against his and he tasted salt and sweetness and unforgiving freshness. But as quickly as it had begun, it ended. He pushed her away.

“Vanessa, we must stop this. We must put an end to it. People are talking and I have not only my family’s name to consider, but yours, my dear.” 

Stunned, she crinkled her brow as she looked up at him. “No,” she said. “I do not accept that.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed his neck in the spot she’d kissed weeks earlier where it drove him near mad. 

“You will have to accept it,” he said, but he’d not pushed her away and his arms came around her as well. He wound his fingers in her hair and pulled her head back to expose her neck. He lowered his face and licked the bumps of cartilage that made her throat, down to her collar bones. He wanted to bite her. He wanted to leave red and violet marks from his teeth all over her pretty, white flesh. He wanted to hit her and knock her unconscious and devour her, like an animal, but he also wanted to hold her and stroke her and elicit slow, sweet noises from the column on which his tongue currently worked. Simultaneously, he found himself disgusted and aroused by his impulses. “You will have to accept it,” he sobbed in her ear as he bit her earlobe. She cried out, but she held fast to him and pressed her own little kisses into his neck. “Oh, Vanessa,” he wept. “I can’t, I can’t. It is so inherently wrong. So wrong.” He scratched the skin on her delicate neck raw with the scruff of his beard. 

“And yet you want me,” she whispered as she pressed her body against his. “I can feel it.” 

“That does not mean it is right,” he said and extricated himself from her embrace. The tears that spilled from her eyes served to slice through him with searing heat. His body thrummed with the frantic heat of her as he tried to collect himself. “What have you done to me?” He wondered aloud, wiping his own hot tears with the back of his hand. He was not a man who cried. 

“I’ve done nothing,” she replied, honestly enough. “You would blame me for your own desire? What a black heart you must have after all.” 

“I just might,” he said with a sniffle he decided was the most un-masculine noise he’d ever made in his life. He took his handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Vanessa. “Dry your tears and go, girl. We cannot do this thing anymore.” 

Vanessa took the handkerchief and held it, but she did not dry her eyes, which dripped incessantly. She stared up at him, her jaw locked in an angry frown. “I will not go.”

“You must. Mrs. Murray is unhappy with our visits.”

“Fat old Mrs. Murray can go to the devil!” Vanessa hissed. Sir Malcolm’s mouth dropped open in complete shock and he raised his hand as if he might slap her. She did not move or even blink. She stood her ground. “Will you attempt to beat me off, then?” The words came out quietly, evenly, almost amused. He lowered his hand. Had another human ever perplexed him so entirely? It quite did him in. He remembered at last to close his mouth. 

“Your passion will undo you,” he mumbled. 

“It just might,” she said with a little smile. “But there are things I know. Things I cannot resist no matter how long and hard I pray on my knees. And you do not know yet these things, but I know them, I have always known them.” She reached up and put her hand on his cheek. He put his hand over hers and leaned into her caress with a heavy exhale. He closed his eyes to better feel and memorize the sensation of her thin fingers on his face. 

“What is it you know?” He asked, his eyes still closed. She took his other hand and placed it on her breast. Her heart fluttered like a wild bird being chased, which surprised him as her outward demeanor had been so cool and calm. With his thumb, he drew circles on the skin over her heart, which was dewy from the sea air. He opened his eyes and found her peering up at him, her face openly angelic, looking young and almost tragically perfect. “What could an innocent child know that I do not? Hmmm? I’ve travelled the globe. Have you even been beyond the walls of these country homes? You’ve had a little taste of lust and it’s made you quite drunk with a sense of power. So, I must be the responsible one, as I am undoubtedly older and wiser. I will not lie, it is no easy thing. You are. . . enchanting. A weaker man might find himself unable to resist the temptation of those eyes, so like a wild sky at twilight, promising a night of mystery and delight, eh? But I care for you, Miss Ives, indeed I’ve always cared for you, and I will not be your undoing. Black as my heart might be, I will not soil your tender name by weaving it with my own in an unseemly fashion. No.” As he spoke, his fingers drifted over the tops of her breasts, as though he might have one last touch, one final decadent memory of her flesh to take with him through the rest of his days. 

“You think because I am young and less than worldly I cannot know things? How wrong you are. And how very proud and flawed you are as well. Have I not carried out conversations with you with my words as articulately and enjoyably as any of your equals? And has not my spirit spoken with yours through my touch? Through my kiss? Have you not known things otherworldly when our lips have met? Do not dare deny it for I will know you lie.” Her words came in a gush of breath that seemed almost void of voice. “Take me around the world. It will make little difference in what I know as I stand here before you.” 

“And that is?”

“That you thrill in the authenticity of our connection, strange though it may be.” She put her hand over his on her breast. Her fingers slipped into the grooves between his, taunting the delicate skin there. 

“This connection, as you call it, from whence did it come?”

“I know not, precisely. Perhaps it has always been here between us. Waiting to be discovered, like your river’s source in your dark country.” 

He chuckled at this and brought their hands down to their sides, but kept them entwined. “Oh you are an impish little trickster,” he said. “Are you sure you’re not part fairy, or magical creature of the night?” He leaned forward and touched her nose with his. 

“You jest, Sir Malcolm,” she smiled indulgently. “Perhaps we should meet by night so you can learn for yourself I am solid and human.” 

“What singular witchcraft convinces you to flirt with fire, Vanessa Ives? Even as you stand here before me, glimmering in the light, reeking of the sea like a little mermaid who could slip from my grasp and disappear beneath a wave with my next breath, there is a keen darkness to you.”

“Yes.”

“This, then, is what you know?”

“Yes.”

“How I love to hear your lips create that singular syllable,” he said, his eyes cast up to the ceiling as though he spoke to no one in particular. And as he looked about him, in a sort of fit arduous wonder, a cloud moved before the sun and cast the room in shadows. He realized with sudden horror it was no longer sweetness or dalliance with which he flirted. He felt a tremor of agonizing covetousness deep within his marrow and could not say whether it was doom or glory, for then the sun reappeared and the room once again was bright and the sense which had gripped him so desperately had resolved. “You must go to tea, little love,” he whispered and pinched her chin. Was it something in his gentle tone of voice, or in the desperation in his eyes that compelled a nod of assent from Vanessa? He could not say, but was relieved to see it, regardless. 

“You’ll not come?”

“I’ve mountains of work to do up here. Be a dear and tell them to send something up to the crotchety old bear in his cave, will you?”

“Yes,” she murmured and stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Will I see you at supper?” 

“Quite possibly,” he said. She had made her way to the door and he was about to celebrate his freedom, to refocus on the maps and charts and ledgers and letters he would need to organize. But as she reached the archway, a strange and dark force compelled him to draw her back. “Vanessa?” His mouth made her name and she paused, a perfect hand poised on the wooden frame of the doorway. She twisted her head back to look at him with that achingly mysterious smile. “It is meant to be a lovely night, something of a special meteorological thing. They say we will see some star showers, much later.” He fiddled with a compass on his desk, pretending that he did not even care that she stood there. “I believe I will take a walk in the maze tonight.” He looked back up to see that she nodded once, solemnly, her smile quite gone. 

It wasn’t an invitation. Not really. It was simply information, wasn’t it? And she could do with that whatever she liked.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By the pricking of my thumb, something wicked this way comes. . .
> 
> And that something wicked is Mrs. Pool, and she is doing such nasty things to Sir Malcolm, but in a Vanessa shaped way.

The fire did so little to light the room that when he regained consciousness, Sir Malcolm at first thought he was in complete darkness. But as he rolled over onto his side, grunting mightily at the ache in his head, he realized embers still glowed in the grate. They gave little light, and almost no warmth. It took a ludicrous amount of effort to focus his eyes, and even after rubbing them several times, it seemed he still saw double or triple. 

He struggled to sit, but wrangled his body around into an upright position. His head throbbed, as though he’d awoken from a night of much too much wine and brandy and other indulgences. The arid heat of his tongue was reminiscent of a particularly desperate couple of days in the Sahara, but Sembene had come and drizzled water into his mouth. How he’d longed to guzzle, to slake his terrible thirst, but Sembene had known better. “Slowly,” he’d murmured as he held up Sir Malcolm’s head and rationed him drip after drip. 

Was it on that day Sembene saved his life? And had he been by Sir Malcolm’s side ever since? The details were vague. 

Where was his man now? Where was his faithful guide? He was not there? Sir Malcolm swiveled his head to look around the room and tried not to groan at the pain in both his physical malady, and in the emotional knowledge that he was utterly alone. He remembered then it had been his choice to sneak out of the house, leaving the comfort and safety of Sembene’s company behind. He’d wanted to face Evelyn on his own, to script a treatise. The memory of his failure brought a fresh wave of despair. 

Upon resuming his position facing the fire, Sir Malcolm noticed a long, black, rectangular table in the middle of the room. It was low and covered on all sides by the dark wood. As he examined it more closely, he recognized it was not a table at all, but a sort of box. He was certain it was not there before, or was he certain? He crept over to it on his hands and knees and pulled himself to stand next to the vessel. Once he was able to gaze down upon it properly, he was able to see it was a coffin, the lid of which was slightly ajar. He summoned his strength to give the lid a proper shove and the it clattered to the marble floor with a deafening bang. 

The inside was lined with dove gray satin, or it could have been white, but for the eerie light in the room. A slender corpse held a pose of dignified eternal rest, covered with a gauzy shroud. 

“Oh,” Sir Malcolm sighed as his hand hovered above the figure. As though compelled by forces beyond his control, he reached into the casket and started to pull at the shroud. Little by little he pulled it back to reveal the woman beneath. “Little love. No. No. Oh, Vanessa mine, please no.” His icy breath came in puffs over the dead body as he started to weep. “What has she done? What evil deed is this?” He reached into the coffin and put his arms around her body. Weak as he was, Vanessa was light as air, and he picked her up and clutched her to his chest, falling back onto the floor with her. He sobbed into her frozen neck as he cradled her in his lap, like a child, rocking with wave upon wave of grief. 

“For whom do you cry, Malcolm?” Her voice came like a reptilian hiss, or the last vibration of an echo before it disappeared entirely. 

“Vanessa?” He gasped and sat back to see her eyes opened, and she stared at him in his arms. “You live? My love? You live? But I thought I saw you in your tomb, and you were so white, indeed you are still so white, so cold. Are you well my darling?”

“Proud, lustful, vainglorious man,” she smiled and reached up to stroke his face with her cold fingers. “Will you kiss me?” 

Something about the way her neck twitched and her face cocked at a certain angle made Sir Malcolm collect his remaining wits to realize the strangeness of the situation. He stiffened slightly as he rubbed her arm and asked again, “Are you quite well, my dear? You are so very cold.” 

“I shall be better if you kiss me. Oh, yes, I should like that very much. I wished for it upon a star. Or upon a fish? I cannot recall.” Her laugh echoed against the stone and marble of the room. 

“A starfish? Down at the water’s edge with Peter and Mina?” He offered. 

“Oh! Yes! That was it. My, what an intact memory you have. And what times we had together, thee and me. Do you remember?”

“Of course I do. But we must figure out how to get out of here. We must find a way to escape this place. And I must get you to a doctor.”

“You men. Always worrying,” she sighed. “Will you kiss me now? And will you have me? Will you take my maidenhead?”

“What? No!” When it hit him, it did so like a brick in his gut. This was not his Vanessa, but a wretched trick, a specter conjured by his captor. All the same, when she stroked his cheek and kissed his neck, it felt so much the same he could have almost believed. “You are not real,” he growled. 

“Oh, but I am, in a way,” she said. “Do you remember the maze, Malcolm? Do you remember all of our nights together among the silent, green hedges? Our stalwart, verdant army, protecting us from prying eyes?”

“Stop this.”

“Tell me you remember. Please,” she whimpered against his skin and for a moment her breath was the only warmth he’d felt for hours. 

“Of course I remember,” he said. 

“Good,” she purred and clung to the lapels of his jacket, peeled them back from his shoulders and kissed his icy skin with her warm lips. “Tell me. Tell me what you remember. Was I pretty?”

“Ah. You were perfect.”

“How your eyes do twinkle when you reminisce with me, Malcolm. Green and sparkling like the dew on the leaves as the night turned into morning. All those nights. Tell me more.”

“I remember you in your pretty, party gown. The satin was the color of champagne and I wanted to drink you up. I wanted to consume you entirely.” 

“Ah, but you didn’t did you?”

“No,” he said and felt shame stab him and twist like a knife in his ribs. He winced as she wiggled away from his arms and stood next to the coffin. She wore the same champagne colored satin gown that she did that night in the maze. It was so dark in the room, but somehow light bounced off of the fabric from an unknown source. 

“You taught me other things, didn’t you?” She said, smoothing her hands over the slippery fabric. He tried to come up on his knees, tried to stand. He was so weak. “You taught me much, did you not?” 

He compelled his feet to make him stand. “Yes.”

“Helped my hands learn to please you and taught my body to respond in kind to your touch? Do you remember? How it felt?” She circled him. She tickled the side of his neck with fingertips that seemed to scorch they were so hot. He knew she was not real, and yet his body was helpless not to react. “Can you recall our caresses, Malcolm?”

“Oh yes,” he sighed and closed his eyes and she brought her body before him and with it the aroma of lilac. He threw his head back and inhaled. 

“Will you hold me now?” Her voice seemed to purr and he opened his eyes to take in the gorgeously glowing specter before him.

“You’re not for me to hold.”

“Oh, but I am.”

“No. You’re not real. You’re not Vanessa.” He said it again, as though to remind and further convince himself, “You are not real.”

“But touch me,” she took his hand and brought it to her burning breast, made a cup of his fingers so he could hold her roundness. “Do I not feel real? Does not the touch of me make your breath come faster, your heart beat harder, your lips ache for kisses full of heat and succulence?” Unable to resist, he gathered her in his arms and held her against him. The warmth that flowed from her intoxicated him, made every nerve on his body flicker with life and need. He nuzzled his face against the bare skin of her chest and neck and inhaled her, filled his lungs with the floral bouquet of her flesh. “Yes,” she gasped. “Kiss me, my beloved.” His lips had no choice but to find hers and to meet them with a groan of ecstasy that felt nearly torturous as he parted her mouth with his tongue and let himself into the blasting fire of her kiss. He bent her supple back over his arm so he could deepen the kiss, and felt as he did that she would thaw his frozen bones. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a shadow move and found himself quite distracted. The gossamer creature quickened his pulse lured him toward something he could not name, something he wanted but knew was wrong. In his mind’s eye, the sullen face and clear blue of Vanessa’s gaze caught and held him, as though with intent to warn. “No,” he cried and pushed away the gowned woman claiming to be his love. 

“You’ll leave me again?” She hissed angrily. “So very like you.”

He looked around the room anxiously. He tried the door, but it would not budge. “I must break this spell.” 

“It is no spell,” the thing in Vanessa’s shape said. “It is I. Please, Malcolm, be with me.”

“You are a lurid trickster, a dark force. I will resist.”

“Shhhh,” she said as though perturbed with a small child. “You men are always so predictable in your desires, in your fears, in your weaknesses. I know you well, do I not? Oh, so very well.” She approached him again and her lilac sigh served to sedate his mind and arouse certain other senses. “You mustn’t leave again. Not so soon. Not again. Not before you tell me everything.”

“What is it you would know?” He murmured into her hair. 

“Did you love me, in the maze on those dewy nights? Were you in love with me?” 

“Oh, Vanessa,” he sighed as he wrapped his hands around her tiny waist and lost his face in the curve of her shoulder, kissed and then bit her roughly. “You know I did.”

“Then why did you not tell me?” 

“How do you know this, sorceress? I know you are not my Vanessa,” he said. “How do you know these private matters and what dark purpose do you serve to torture me with them?”

“Shhhh,” she hushed again and stroked his head gently taking away the pain that was there with her touch. “I know much.” 

“Then you must know why I did not say then what you would hear me say now.”

“Tell me,” she whispered as her arms slithered up his back. “Why did you not tell me that you loved me?”

“I did not think it fair, I suppose,” he said helplessly. 

“And then you left me. You left me for years on end. Have you any idea what that did to me? Did you even care how your abandonment wounded me to my marrow or were you too selfish and callous to reflect even for a moment on my feelings?”

“Vanessa,” he sighed, knowing the creature in his arms was not Vanessa but being too weak and confused to fight it any longer. “I was miserable for you. I missed you like you were a part of my soul I had lost, but it was what I had to do. I was an explorer. I had to go.” 

“But you do not have to go now, beloved.”

“No.”

“You can be with me, forever. Be with me, Malcolm. Be with me now. Stay with me. Join me here and we will never again be parted.” 

From behind her back she revealed the glinting, silver dagger and even in his bewildered state, Sir Malcolm could see it was as sharp as a deadly serpent’s set of venomous fangs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all who are reading this and being patient with my weird plot and character studies. This is literally pouring out of my heart like I can't even help it. I treasure every single comment and try to respond to everyone so please feel free to write and let me know what you think . . . . xoxoxo.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sir Malcolm and Vanessa meet in the maze to stargaze, but do not see many stars at all. . . 
> 
> Thank you so much to one and all who have been reading and leaving such lovely comments. I am most appreciative. I have decided to change the rating of the story at this point to "E" as it will contain more erotic and romantic undertones from this point on. I hope everyone is okay with that!

Her fingers tickled the tiny leaves of the great hedges as she traversed the maze. Left, right, left, right, right again. She knew the way so well, she could have found him blindfolded, although the moonlight was plentiful. How many hours had she played in this silly structure with Mina and Peter? If each moment were a leaf, would there be enough foliage to cover the branches of this green grove? More than likely, she thought with a little smile.

She did not stop to think of how Mina and Peter should regard her should they know of the mission she currently undertook. Indeed, she did not stop to consider this for a moment.

A queer excitement prickled beneath her skin. It would be the first time she met him out of doors, alone in such a manner. Expectations were explicit. She paused for barely a breath to gather her wits.

Her bare feet were silent luxury in the moist grass- a sensation of familiarity on an eve of utter singularity.

Vanessa remembered vividly the first time she had been aware of Sir Malcolm, not just as a doting uncle of sorts, or as Mina’s father, but as a man. It was in this very maze, during a late summer garden party. Vanessa was maybe twelve or thirteen. Sir Malcolm was home for a brief rest in between voyages, and the Murrays had thrown a lavish party which lasted all afternoon and late into the night. Tents were erected with endless tables of elaborate delicacies and champagne flowed freely. Vanessa had gorged herself on ices and jellies and felt nearly full to bursting as she wandered toward the maze to find a spot to rest a bit. A garrulous group of women who drank too much, linked arms and Vanessa watched in fascination as they wobbled toward her haven of the maze. She crept after them and listened. One after another they began to make comments, each more lewd than the last.

“You’ll never believe it, Sylvie,” one of them said, making no effort to keep her voice low. “My Thomas told me that when he goes off to Africa, he has his way with every manner of native woman, and in every way imaginable.”

“Oh your Thomas is bold to speak of such things, but I believe it,” Sylvie slurred. “He once made a pass at me and he was so virile he was nearly impossible to resist. I do believe they feed him some sort of charm for potency over there.”

Vanessa trailed behind them, silently. If they’d not been too intoxicated to notice her, Vanessa’s skill for obscurity would have served her well, following them in the dark.

“He is dashing,” the other one agreed.

“Well, I really shouldn’t tell you this, but,” the third woman chimed in paused for effect and so her cohorts could gasp and look at her.

“You must tell us now, Gwen!”

“Oh yes, you must!” The one called Sylvie squealed and started to tickle her as though to get the truth out.

“Alright!” Gwen laughed and sighed, either dramatically or drunkenly. “He had me. I couldn’t resist! Oh, he was a scoundrel!”

“You didn’t!”

“I did, and let me tell you, he was enormous and insatiable! I could barely walk for a week after!”

“Oh, his poor wife,” the other one tittered, not sounding at all sorry for the wife of whom they spoke.

“Hmph, she’s not giving him any service. Not since she had the daughter, and she’s what? Thirteen now? It’s only natural a man with his appetites would look elsewhere.”

“You little slut,” one of them chided, and Vanessa couldn’t tell which, and she covered her own smile as they all giggled.

At this point, Vanessa realized with a thrilling gasp that these inebriated women gossiped about Sir Malcolm. While she did not understand everything of which they spoke, she realized that it was secret and scandalous subject matter, and she was never able to look at Sir Malcolm quite the same ever after.

She could hear their giggles now, as she made her way through the maze. She knew she closed in on their prize and that somehow, she was valued above all of them in his estimation. Again, although she’d aged a few years and learned much, she could not completely qualify what this meant. But she knew it to be true. Sir Malcolm had always been a precious person to her, as formative as her parents or Mina. She’d loved him differently than anyone else and she’d recently learned her affections were not only genuine, but reciprocated. She recalled the primal heat of their bodies crushed together in those furtive embraces in his study, and a very distracting tingle annoyed her between her thighs.

She had known, when he held her, the sensation of a hard rod pressed against her hip or thigh had meant that he’d been urgently aroused and wanting of her affections, but she’d not been certain how to proceed from that point. She did recognize a part of her surged with awe at the knowledge he wanted her, and there was certain power, electric potency in the charm she dangled before him. It was stunning.

She knew also there was something different in the bond she shared with Sir Malcolm than in whatever fleeting lust of which those giggling drunkards had spoken. There was no jealousy or envy harbored in her heart, although she did hope that whatever transpired that night, she would be able to walk after. The thought gave her a moment’s pause, but then she was quite certain he would do her no harm whatsoever, and with a deep breath she continued her passage through the maze.

When she found him at last, his back was to her, and he seemed to be spreading out a blanket on the ground. “Hello there,” she breathed. He turned at her voice.

“Well,” he said with his customary smile. “Are you ready to see some stars? I took the liberty of putting down a bit of a carpet for us to sit on. And I’ve brought some wine. Do you like wine?”

“Yes,” she answered eagerly, stepping up to him. He was dressed more lightly and less formally than she had ever been accustomed to seeing him, except when he was just home from a trip. His shirt was unbuttoned to reveal his neck and some of his chest, and he wore no neck tie or vest. She herself had thrown a lightweight dress back on, but had no time or assistance in the dark to bother with her stays or undergarments, so she was casual as well. It felt a suddenly peculiar thing, to be so close to a man and so informally attired. Instinctively, she bowed her head and put her arms in front of her as propriety battled with her fearless nature.

“Are you alright, my dear,” he asked, noting her concern. He put a hand on her shoulder and with one of his fingers, stroked the side of her neck. His touch emboldened her and she raised her eyes to his.

“Quite well, thank you,” she said. She dipped her head to nuzzle his hand. “Do you know much about stars, Sir Malcolm?”

“I’ve had to pick up a thing or two,” he said. “It is somewhat mandatory when you are traveling, especially when you are on the sea.”

“Do you like it? Being on boats?”

“No. Not at all.”

“Really? I’ve always imagined sailing the seas as an adventurer to be so romantic!”

“Ah, yes, well you would, wouldn’t you,” he chuckled. “But truthfully, I can endure just about anything other than boats. I despise them. To me, they are torturous. I get horribly seasick, but that is a secret to be kept between you and me. I can’t have my admirers thinking I’m a weak old fool who can’t handle himself on a little boat now, can I?”

“Oh, you poor dear,” Vanessa sighed and cupped his cheek with her small hand. “How I would care for you when you were sick. I would bring you sweets to settle your stomach, and a cool cloth for your head.” As if to prove her point, she laid her palm across his forehead. He picked it up and brought it to his mouth, kissed it and then she felt his tongue draw circles on the delicate flesh, his hot breath making moans melt from her mouth.

“You are sweet,” he whispered, gathering her close and holding her to him. “Here, come.” He pulled her down onto the spread and they settled close to one another. He procured glasses and poured wine for them. “You’ll like this better than the brandy,” he said and he was right. The wine was cool and crisp with a delicate aftertaste of honey and fruit.

“It’s lovely,” Vanessa said and he filled their cups again. For a while they were quiet and listened to the crickets and in the distance an owl sang a lonely ode to the night. As Vanessa gazed up into the sky, expecting to take in the stars and moon, she was surprised by a series of dark shadows that flapped lazily overhead. “Oh my!” She exclaimed, startled.

Sir Malcolm laughed and put his arms around her. “Don’t fret, little love. Those are simply the night birds, come to feast on the insects that come out in the dark.”

“Night birds? Surely I’ve never heard of such a ridiculous thing. You tease me.”

“Not at all,” he said. “Bats. Perfectly harmless and completely uninterested in you and I. Actually quite a helpful night creature. I much prefer them to the blood sucking mosquitoes and other horrible bitey bugs.” To accentuate his point, he nipped playfully at Vanessa’s neck. She slapped back at him.

“Oh you’re a beast!” She cried, but she was delighted by the prickle of his beard on her tender flesh. “I’d always heard bats were violent bloodsuckers themselves. Is that not true then?”

“Hardly, my dear. You’re thinking of the old myths and legends. Most species are more interested in insects and possibly fruit. There are some species that feed on mammalian flesh, but they do not live around here.”

“Do you promise?” She asked.

“I do,” he said and put his hand on her waist. “Although, I selfishly enjoy the sight of you a little frightened as such. It is such a rare thing to observe in my little lioness.” His face was very close to hers, close enough so he could nudge her nose with his own. She liked his breath on her skin, the fragrance of wine on his lips. His fingers began to knead the flesh at her waist and a sound somewhat like a growl came low from the back of his throat. In a surprisingly silken gesture, Vanessa caught his neck with both of her hands and pulled his mouth to hers. The kiss was instantly open and deep. Her teeth clashed against his as she forced her tongue as far as it could go, pulled and scratched at his neck to make him come closer to her, as though she was desperate to find passage for her entire being into him. Rough as she was, his hands were gentle as they stroked her back and fumbled in her hair, as though he sought to soothe the beast in her. “And where did this wild, little creature of the night come from?” He panted against her forehead as she lowered her face to lick at his neck and his chest where his shirt was undone.

“She has always been here,” Vanessa replied, looking up at him.

“Indeed, I believe she has,” he sighed and held her against his chest. He laid back on the blanket, taking her with him, in a long kiss, as he descended. Vanessa stroked his chest, and found her fingers fascinated with the texture of the hair on it. She’d never been so close to a male body before, not even Peter, and yet it did not seem at all odd to her to feel and know this man beneath her hands. She propped herself up on her elbow so she could further examine him with her eyes in the moonlight. Sir Malcolm sighed, and this emboldened Vanessa to slip her fingers to the buttons on his shirt and to undo several more of them. She stroked her hand over the expanse of masculine flesh she’d exposed, taking particular note of how his nipples grew hard under her touch, just as hers did in a stiff breeze, or when he had embraced her and bit a certain spot on her neck. She licked her lips and lowered her mouth over the one nearest her and her hand slipped down over his belly which was a contradiction of soft hair and hard muscle.

He uttered a strangled gasp, and without moving her mouth, Vanessa peeked up to find his eyes closed, his face tilted toward heaven, and his mouth opened. The image had an odd effect on her as she swept her tongue over him, and he seemed to writhe beneath her. She was uncertain of precisely what was happening, but she knew it infused her with a sort of power. Suddenly he grabbed her hand and in a supple movement that reminded Vanessa of dancing, he rolled up and pushed her onto her back so he hovered over her, so his face and torso became the entire night in her view. “You’ll undo me entirely, little love,’’ he whispered hoarsely.

“Will I?”

“I am afraid so.”

“And then what?”

He laughed at her question, which was in earnest. “Oh, I shouldn’t like to know, and I pray that day never comes.” His thick fingers traced the delicate features of her face. Vanessa frowned. “What is it? What is this scowl? You look confused or perturbed, or perhaps both?”

“Well, it seems on one hand you want something. Me. And yet you say you hope the day never comes, but here we lie. Together. Is this what men are like when they are in love? This constant push and pull?”

“You assume I’m in love with you?” He smiled down upon her and his eyes twinkled mischievously as he placed kisses on her chin and neck.

“Well, aren’t you?” Vanessa asked. She pushed his face back up from her neck so she could look in his eyes. “Or am I a game to you? Another conquest? Tell me. I must know.”

His face grew serious, almost grim. “When I am near you, there are times I feel a sort of lightness, a sort of enchantment. Your youthful beauty, your fresh, innocent nature makes me feel almost young and playful again,” he began.

“I will not be played, Sir Malcolm,” she interrupted and pushed him off of her. He assumed a position on his side, facing her.

“Please. Allow me to finish,” he murmured. She raised her eyebrows expectantly. “I have no desire to toy with you, Vanessa. As light as you are, there is a darkness about you, equally compelling. I quite fear it could devour me. I’ve never experienced a sensation quite like it.” Her face fit neatly in his big hand and he covered her lips with his, sucking as if he would drink her in. She returned the kiss and brought her arms around his wide back, pulling him back atop her. His fingers were feverish as they pulled the ribbons to open the bodice of her dress so her pale chest and breasts were exposed. He cupped one of her silky, white mounds and with a bestial moan, lowered his lips to suckle her pink nipple. His lips and tongue sent a thousand little needles of pleasure shooting through her entire body and she arched her back instinctively. “Mmmmh,” he sighed and increased the suction and put a hand under the small of her back so he could feel every little pleasure-tinged motion. “Oh, you are lovely,” he said and pressed the bare skin of his chest against hers and they held one another tight. “I should feel shame and despair for this, and perhaps later I shall, but right at this moment, god help me, I only want more and more of you.”

“Why should you feel shame?” Vanessa inquired as she lazily stroked his cheek and neck, and arched her hips against his. Through her skirts, she felt his hardness against her center and rubbed against it. She found it generated a puzzling sensation, a mysterious ache in her, not exactly unpleasant, but acute and wild. “I want more too,” she hissed, almost uncertain from whence the words came, almost shocked to realize they came from her own lips.

“You are a sweet perfection,” he whispered and rotated his hips against her as he palmed her breast in his big hand and lapped at her neck and shoulder.

“Nonsense. I may be young, but I’m wise enough to know perfection does not exist in humanity. There is no such thing.” She bit his ear and arched up into his arms, cued by the sound of his desirous whimper. He stroked down the length of her and began to lift her skirts, touching her calves and then the insides of her thighs.

“Ah, but you come so close, with your eyes of midnight searching my soul and creating in me the keenest need to feel you near and nearer still,” he pulled her so close and tight it almost hurt.

“Are these the sorts of things you say to all your ladies?” She asked the question without letting go of him, but her voice was very cool.

“What? Why would you ask such a thing?” He brought his hand out from her skirts.

“I’m not so naive to think there are not others. In fact, I’ve heard things. I know you are popular among women, and that you enjoy them as well.”

“You are bold, Vanessa,” he said gruffly and rolled off of her onto his back. He stared at the sky.

“Are you angry?”

“No,” he answered. “Not angry with you, little love. Only sorry you should have to hear or wonder about such things. It gives me ample cause for acute remorse. And sooner than I expected I should feel it. Oh well. It is well we stop for tonight.” He placed his hands on his stomach and sighed heavily into the night.

“I do not mean to make you remorseful. Or to make you stop. I was merely curious.” She took one of his hands and lifted it from his body so she could lace her fingers with his. “I should just like to know, that is, if there are others, and if you endear them to you with tender names and affections as well.”

“And would it make a difference to you?”

“I can’t say.” She nibbled the knuckle of his middle finger. “I would need more information to make a definitive answer.”

He laughed and turned to her, “Oh you are a sly little trickster! Very well, then, you shall have your answer, Vanessa Ives.” He touched her face and the skin of her chest where her dress was still open. She’d not fallen back on any sense of modesty and closed it again and her fair skin practically gleamed in the moonlight. “Since the night I returned, and you came to me in my study, I’ve barely been able to look at another woman. It is as though you have thoroughly bewitched me. One thought of you ends only to pick up another, like stitches in an endless garment. I crave the haunted sound of your voice, the infinity of your gaze, the sweet, softness of your lips with every aching fiber of my being until I fear I shall know not a moment’s rest. And,” he pressed a finger to her lips which were just about to open. “No. I’ve not spoken these words to another woman. Not ever. Not even my wife.”

She allowed his words to wash over her and settle like drops of rain on her skin, and as they seeped into her, she realized entirely the gravity of their situation. “So you love me?”

“I cannot say that.”

“Why not?”

“A man’s heart is a complicated thing, Vanessa. You are yet too young to understand this, so I beg you to trust me.”

  
“But I believe I love you, Sir Malcolm.” She said and curled close to his side. “How odd.”

“Indeed.”

“And it does not feel particularly merry or light, does it? Not at all like in a story book.”

“No,” he said and kissed her forehead.

“In fact, it feels quite somber and secret. Severe almost.”

“Yes.” He cleared his throat as though he were about to say something unpleasant. “Much as I hate to ask this of you, I must. I know you and Mina are closer than sisters, but she must never know. No one must ever know about us, little love. It would be an unmitigated disaster, more so for you than for me, I dare say, but one with which I could not live should it come to pass. Promise me this, that you shall speak to no one about us.”

“I vow it. We alone shall speak of these things together,” Vanessa said gravely.

“Thank you,” he muttered, and as he did a cloud passed before the moon and all became quite dark. Vanessa shivered in his arms. “We will have to get you back soon.”

“Not just yet,” she whispered and climbed atop him and lay her body flat against his, her ear pressed to his chest, listening to the relentless thump of his heart. She lay still for quite some time. His hands rested lightly on the small of her back. For a moment, it seemed perhaps they would fall asleep like that, with her resting light as a dusting of snow on a mountain ridge. “I wish I were the moon,” Vanessa breathed against his chest.

“Oh? And why is that?”

“So I could be with you and watch over you, wherever you are, whatever you do.” Tears fell from her eyes onto his skin, and he felt anointed by something sacred. He cupped her face in his hands. She was so diminutive, she seemed almost dwarfed by him.

“What about during the daytime?”

“Is not the moon still in the sky, somewhere, even in the day?” Vanessa asked.

“This is very true,” he said.

“It is also true you will leave again?”

“Yes.”

“Then you must kiss me now,” she demanded.

“As you wish,” he murmured and pulled her face to his so their lips could again meet, but this time their kiss was flavored not with sweetness of wine, but with the brine of their tears.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vanessa and the boys prepare to go to Sir Malcolm's aid. . .

Mercifully, upon their midnight return to Grandage Place, Vanessa fell into a deep sleep for several hours. She'd been exhausted almost to the point of hysteria and it had frightened Ethan.

He kept watch over her from the chair next to her bed, and resisted the urge to pace the varnish off the floorboards. He also resisted the urge to find strangeness in the fact that Vanessa actually lie sleeping when he knew the marrow of her being was filled with need to go to Sir Malcolm, to save him from whatever snare into which she believed he’d fallen.

Ethan rubbed his eyes and scratched at the scruff on his neck. He rose to answer the quiet knock at the door.

“You are no doubt in need of sustenance,” Sembene said. He carried a tray with some food and a decanter of something Ethan assumed was whiskey. Sir Malcolm and Vanessa typically took brandy, but Sembene knew Ethan preferred whiskey and had made a point of honoring his preferences.

“Thank you,” Ethan whispered, and stepped out of the room. Sembene set the tray down on a small table outside of Vanessa’s room. Two chairs had been set already. Both men glanced at the sleeping woman as Ethan silently shut the door. “Can you tell me what you know?”

“It is not much, what we know,” Sembene began. “Sir Malcolm disappeared from the house two nights ago. He has not returned. We believe he went to Mrs. Poole’s.”

“So all this fuss because the old dog is out sniffing around after his bitch? Excuse my language, Sembene, but Sir Malcolm has Vanessa twisted up tighter than the fuse on a bomb. And for what?” He sloshed some of the dark alcohol into a tumbler and tossed it down his throat. He was correct; it was indeed whiskey. “I could murder the man for the way he conflicts her. And she plays right into it. Damn!” He stood abruptly and swatted at the air with his fist.

“No, Mr. Chandler,” Sembene said evenly. “You misunderstand. Mrs. Poole is not who she presented herself to be. She is mother to the Nightcomers and she is in service to the Dark Master. She enchanted Sir Malcolm. He broke her spell while you were away and it became clear. Miss Ives is correct to worry. Our friend is in grave danger.”

Ethan exhaled a whoosh of air. Sembene poured him another drink which he consumed in slightly smaller sips, as opposed to one angry gulp. “I don’t know what to say,” he managed at last. A mix of confusion and fear had risen in him, but it had done precious little to take away the raw anger he’d felt since Vanessa had insisted on leaving the moors.

“This rage you carry, Mr. Chandler. It is not good. It will do nothing to help you. It will bring harm to your friends. And to Miss Ives.”

“I don’t get it. I just don’t get it. The two of them,” he looked wildly at Sembene with his palms splayed in front of him and shook his head. “They seem to be masters at destroying one another and yet they can’t let go of this. . . this thing, whatever it is. This hold they have on one another is like a sickness. I fear she will never recover from it. And then what?”

“Mr. Chandler. You love her.”

“Yes. Of course. I do. I love her with everything in me and then I love her with even more I never knew I had.”

“And it is hard for you, to see her suffer?”

“Hell yeah it is!”

“Then know this: it is not Sir Malcolm who causes Miss Ives to suffer. He does not hurt her any more than you do.”

“Well, there is where we disagree, my friend,” Ethan said.

“You must leave this be. You must allow them to be what they are.”

“Can’t do that,” Ethan said and finished his whiskey. “He is drawing her into danger and despair and if I can keep her from that, why would I step off? How can I allow anyone to needlessly put her in harm’s way?” Tears pricked at his eyes and the sensation kindled a new wave of anger in him. He’d not heard the door open.

“It is not a needless danger I choose to undertake, Ethan,” Vanessa said. He turned to find she stood fully dressed in the door, her hair still down around her shoulders. “Sir Malcolm needs me. Do you not think I would do the same for you? That if it were within my power to save you I would do so without hesitation and with an unburdened and brave heart?” She turned and went back into the room, took her seat at her dressing table and began to brush and prepare her hair. Ethan followed her and closed the door behind them.

“I didn’t know you were awake,” Ethan said, sucking his tears back and wiping his face with the back of his hand. She watched him in her mirror, and thought how like a child he was.

“The incantation I needed came to me as I slept, as I knew it would. An old trick that the Cutwife once taught me. I will be ready.”

“Wait a second,” Ethan choked. “Were you sleeping just now just so you could get a spell? Not to actually rest?”

“Well, did you think I was napping just to be a lie-about?” Vanessa snapped and regarded him with angry eyes in the mirror. “There is work to be done. Has Sembene sent for Dr. Frankenstein and Mr. Lyle?” She returned to the business of pinning up her hair.

“Vanessa,” Ethan pleaded. He touched her shoulders. Her hair finished, she turned to face him and rose. “Please. Please let’s take a moment to reconsider what we are about to do.”

“I will not.” She looked at his quivering lip and the tears staining his cheeks and her insides shifted as a glacier does when it begins to warm. She touched his cheek. “Long ago I learned never to start a sentence with the phrase, ‘if you loved me, you would do this or not do that.’ I know it is what you want to say to me now, and it is also what I want to say to you. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to use that god forsaken phrase as much as I do right now, and yet. . . “ her voice trailed for a moment and she swallowed. Ethan snatched her into a rough embrace. He kissed her and she clawed at his face, as a beast would mark her own. He lifted her up at her waist and she wrapped her legs around him. She bit at his neck and tugged at his hair and felt him sob in her ear. She found his sorrow heated and erotic. She brought his hand to her breast. “You must know now that I love you, and on that love I place no contingencies. But Ethan, he is my heart. This beating you feel under your palm exists because of him, and without him it will still entirely. Without him I will cease to be.”

“No, Vanessa. You will not cease to be. You will still have me!” Ethan said and set Vanessa down on the floor. She watched as his anguish became anger.

“You don’t understand,” she said.

“I’ve been trying to understand. But from where I sit all I see are two people hell bent on destroying each other!”

“No! That’s not it at all!”

“I’ll never understand it! I’ll never understand why you can’t stop living in the past and come live here and now with me! Just with me!”

“That wasn’t the deal we made. You knew that entering in.”

“Well, things change, don’t they?”

“They certainly do, and we can discuss this at length later, Ethan. After. But right now, I must do this thing. I must focus all of my energies on it and do it urgently.” The bell rang. “That will be the men, come to fetch us. Will you let them know I will be down momentarily? Please, Ethan?”

“Yep,” Ethan said. He was clearly still perturbed, but he wiped his hand over his face and pulled Vanessa to him once more. He kissed her forehead, then he left the room. As he descended the stairs he counted the days. “Fuck,” he hissed under his breath. Was this why he’d been so moody and irritated with Van? Surely it had more to do with the danger she was throwing herself headfirst into. Surely.

“Mister Shhhaanddlahh,” Lyle hummed, “On a night that is not fit for man nor beast, it is certainly kind to see such a friendly face.” He took both of Ethan’s hands in both of his and squeezed them with warmth and a good humor that Ethan could not resist.

“No need to fear, Ferdinand. I’ve got both my guns securely on the belt.” He pulled back the tails of his coat so Mr. Lyle could see and shiver with a dainty hand over his lips. Ethan was pleased to whisper, for added effect, “They are fully loaded.”

“Oh!” Lyle gasped.

Victor rolled his eyes and paced before the fire.“Will Miss Ives grace us with her presence and her plan before long?” The good doctor groused.

“I should expect so,” Ethan said. “Does anyone need any coffee or anything, uh, stronger, before we embark?”

“Oh, I could do with a nip to fortify the senses,” Lyle simpered. Ethan poured him a healthy serving of the alcohol that was in the crystal decanter on the parlor table. Ethan was already a little drunk, having consumed a more than a few shots on an empty stomach. He helped himself to another few fingers, and realized as he swallowed it was Sir Malcom’s brandy. In the past, alcohol had dulled the effects of the transition, had prevented it from happening as quickly. He needed it now.

Sembene entered the room, solemn as a character from a Shakespearean tragedy. The word _melancholy_ came to Ethan’s mind and he shook it off with a chill. “Is Miss Ives prepared to join us, then?” Ethan asked.

“She is gone,” Sembene said.

“What?” Ethan hissed. The effect of any alcohol he’d consumed seemed defeated as rage, confusion, fear, and sadness flooded every nerve ending in his human body, and in the body he shared with that other being.

“She is gone,” Sembene repeated.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets NSFW, so if that is not your thing. . . please be forewarned. . . 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and for being patient with this labor of my love. I am so happy you are here and with me and please comment and I will respond in kind.

They played tricks on one another in the maze. The sun wove in and out of the clouds, and the day could not decide if it was to be light or dark. Mina and Vanessa would hide, and then Peter would come to find them, but they would pounce out at him like wild animals and have quite the laugh at his expense when he jumped in fright. 

“It looks like rain,” Mina said, head tilted toward sky’s steely dome. 

“It might hold off a bit longer,” Peter offered.

“Ever the optimist,” Vanessa teased, and pulled on the collar of his shirt. He’d plucked some roses off a bush and was stripping them of their thorns for the girls. He handed one to his sister. 

“Just for that little bit of nastiness, I should leave your thorns on,” he sniped with a sideways smile. 

“You’d never be so cruel,” Vanessa laughed. “Think of how it would scratch me when I tucked it behind my ear! I would bleed to death!” She clutched her chest dramatically. 

“Oh it would be ghastly. All the more reason to do it!” He said, but continued his business of making the stem smooth for her, scraping at it with his thumb nail until it was pricker free. “Here you go, Nessa.” He handed her the bloom and she made a mock curtsey while maintaining eye contact and a grin. She sniffed the rose and tucked it behind her ear. 

“Why did Nessa get the red rose? And I got the yellow one?” Mina asked with a little pout.

“Because you are sweet and innocent, as the color yellow implies. And Nessa is dark and deep and broody as a ghoulish, red rose.” 

“You are a terror!” Vanessa cried and slapped at him playfully. As she did, there was a loud clap of thunder and all three of them jumped. “That’s what you get for being such a dreadful optimist and brute to me! Heaven is furious with you as well!” 

“Heaven could hardly be angry with me, but you. . . oh, Nessa I fear for your immortal soul. That Holy Catholic Church of yours shall have to work much harder.” Peter tugged at a lock of Vanessa’s hair which hung long and unbound on the shoulder of her light beige and blue striped dress. Heat lightening pulsed in the distance. 

“We’d best go in,” Mina said. She and Peter started out of the maze, but Vanessa was held back, maybe by the electricity in the air. “Are you coming?” Mina asked, looking behind her. 

“I’ll be along shortly,” Vanessa said. 

“Are you certain, dearest?”

“Yes, yes. You go on. I’ll be right there in a moment.” She smiled to assuage Mina’s concern for her. 

But instead of following them out of the maze, she travelled deeper in. She had candy in her pocket, some jellies, and she thrust them into her mouth and sucked on them. The outer layer of sugar was rough against her tongue, but underneath was another layer of sweetness that was silky and soft as she sucked. It tasted of cherries and stuck in her teeth when she mashed them into it. The day had grown sincerely dark, and the air was heavy and hot with humidity of the approaching storm. Vanessa undid the first few buttons at her neck and inhaled deeply, savoring the fragrant air. 

Another burst of thunder rolled in the sky, followed by a slightly brighter flash of lightening, but the rain had not yet started to fall. In stillness she stood, waiting for it, waiting for the drops that would anoint her skin like a wild baptism. Almost overheated, even in her light dress, she craved the cool of the coming water. 

When his arms encircled her waist, from behind, she was neither frightened nor surprised. Strangely she knew without knowing he would find her. 

“I love storms,” she whispered.

“As do I,” he replied and kissed her neck. 

“So long as you’re not on a ship, I suppose?” 

“Indeed!” He said. She craned her neck back so her face could reach his, so her lips could reach his, so she could breathe his breath. It was not enough. He turned her in his arms so she faced him, so he could crush his lips against hers, so he could thrust his tongue into her mouth and consume her. “You taste of sweets,” he said, licking her lips. 

“I’ve just eaten a gumdrop,” she said and continued their kiss. 

“Did you miss me?” He asked. “I must know. Did you think of me? Did you miss me?”

“Yes.”

He pushed her against the hedge and she felt the bristle of leaves and branches at her back through the thin material of her dress. He swept his tongue over her molars as if to gather the last bits of cherry candy that lingered there. He reached down and hooked his hand under her knee, brought it up around his waist and thrust himself roughly against her. She brought her hands to his neck and clung, pulled him closer and moaned into his mouth. A gigantic boom of thunder startled both of them and they sprang apart as though they were about to be discovered. “When you are under my lips, you do not seem a mere girl of sixteen,” he growled. 

“Perhaps I am not.”

“But you are. How do you manage to make me forget?”

“You men will do anything to blame the fairer sex for your desire,” she said as she approached him. 

“It is wrong,” he stated.

“Yes. It is wrong,” she repeated and rolled her eyes playfully. “This is a fact we’ve already established.” She unbuttoned his jacket, then his vest, and slipped her hands around his waist, felt the hard flesh of him beneath his shirt. 

“Day and night, I muse on this like an ancient philosopher and there is no answer I can find.”

“You muse on what?” She asked and lightly scratched his back. 

“This bizarre communion betwixt us, Vanessa. I cannot name it’s source and yet it exists as certainly as the Nile. What is it? How did it come to be? And why am I drawn to it despite my singular fear it will be my ruin?” 

“Every day I believe even more that it has always been here, waiting for us to discover it, like the source of your river.” She stood on her toes and kissed his brow which was furrowed in consternation. “I leave soon,” he muttered. 

“And yet you’ve only come home. You’ve only returned to me.”

“I must go.” 

“You will leave me bereft. Quite.” 

His fingers wound themselves in her hair as the first drops of rain began to fall. “You’ll forget me entirely.”

“Never.” She said and bit his neck. She clawed to undo the ascot tie at his neck so she could find more skin for her teeth to purchase. He whimpered as she bit hard enough to draw blood, but he didn’t care. He wanted her to mark him. He wanted to wear her bruise for weeks to come. She swept her tongue over and over the flesh she had used her teeth on, as though to quell the rising pain. “Tell me,” she whispered.

“I can’t.”

“Tell me,” she repeated.

“I’m not ready.” 

“You’ll leave me and perhaps be lost forever. I need to know. I need to hear. I love you and you know. Tell me now. Tell me.”

“Oh, Vanessa,” he sighed and tore open her dress so he could bury his lips in her breast. “Forgive me, do not ask this. I cannot. I cannot stay and I cannot say what you want to hear.” 

“How cruel you are!” 

“And what a child you are!” 

“How dare you?” Her eyes burned, the stealthy violet part of a fire where it is hottest of all. She pulled her dress together and began to angrily pierce button holes with their buttons, as she turned to leave. She marched from him and her hot tears were met by cool rain in a strange contradiction on her cheeks. 

Unable to bear the sight of her narrow back retreating from him, he pulled at her wrist to the rhythm of rolling thunder. “You’ll not walk from me,” he ordered.

“I’ll do as I please,” she replied in a haughty tone. Her nostrils flared as her face flushed with indignation. She attempted to wrench her arm from him, but he held it fast and hard. “Let me go!” She beat at him with her small fists, but he collected her to him and held her. 

“Stop struggling. Hush now, be still,” he stroked the damp hair off her face as she sobbed. He kissed her tear stained cheeks and smelled the rose in her hair. “My wild little love,” he rasped in her ear. “What can I do? What can I say that would tame you? I’m a hunter, Vanessa. I’m a brutal man who takes, not a man accustomed to taming and caring. That has not been my life, and yet, here I stand. Here I stand and all I want is to hold you to me so tenderly.” He brushed his lips over her face. 

“You hold me now only to walk away again. It is equally as brutal.”

“Ah, but one day you will be the one to walk from me. You’ll be married and taken far from me to the house of another man, maybe even in another country. This is our fate.”

“If one is omnipotent of one’s fate, does one not then have the power to change or chose it?” A chain of lightening shattered the sky over her head and she shivered. The rain began in earnest then, poured down on them and soaked them through. “Oh!” She gasped, thrilled and chilled. 

He took her hand and led her out of the maze at a steadily fast pace. He led her not toward, but away from the brightly lit house, to the line of trees and then into it. It was a direction in which Vanessa had never been, and she felt instantly disoriented and confused. Once they were in the forest, trees shielded them somewhat from the storm, but the thunder and lightning was terrifying as it crashed around them. 

A cottage emerged, as though out of nowhere. Vanessa had never seen it before. It was small and coarsely constructed with a mossy roof. It reminded her instantly of the fairy dwellings she and Mina used to create out of bark and leaves. 

Sir Malcolm opened the door and brought her into it. There was not much in the way of furnishings, other than a small table with two chairs, and a cot with a dusty looking quilt. Sir Malcolm immediately busied himself creating a fire in the hearth. 

“What is this place?” Vanessa asked, investigating her surroundings as he blew on the flames which leapt in response to his breath. Rain pelted the roof of their shelter in a steady, almost hypnotic rhythm. 

“It used to be a cottage for the man who kept the orchard and made our cider. We’ve not grown apples or made cider for many years, so it has been unused mostly,” he said as he removed his coat and placed it near the fire to dry. “You’re soaked through. Come. Sit and dry yourself.” He put a chair near the fire for her and dragged the other one over for himself. She sat and rubbed her hands before the flames, spread out her skirts so they could have the benefit of warmth as well. He found several candles and lit them, as it was dark in the cottage beneath the forest in the depth of the storm. Their small flames created both ambient glow and shadow. He walked toward some shelves and took down a bottle. “Something to warm us, eh?” He uncorked it, brought it to his lips and took a slug, and then handed it to Vanessa. She took the bottle, but looked at him suspiciously.

“Do you bring other women here?” 

“No,” he laughed. “What would make you think that?”

Vanessa glanced at the fire, the candles, then at the bottle as she raised it toward her lips. She took a hearty sip and winced at the burn in her throat. “It seems rather well prepared for a place that has been abandoned for many years.” 

“Ahh, yes. Well, I’ve used this cottage as a retreat of sorts. A place to come and calm my mind when needed.” 

“And is yours a mind that frequently requires quieting?”

“At times. Yes.”

“What troubles you?” She passed the bottle back to him.

“I’m sure the distractions of my mind would not interest you,” he said.

“On the contrary. I’m certain they would,” she said, a smirk playing at her lips. “Your mind mystifies mine. Do you think of your travels? Of your quest for glory and fame?”

“Oh, partly, I suppose, if I must be honest. And yes, I must be honest with you; I shall always be honest with you. But there are other times I find my mind overtaken by other thoughts more vague and indulgent. I think about the course my life has taken. I ponder my happiness and whether my family will ever be truly happy with the likes of me. I fear they will not, but more so I fear I will never be able to bring myself to change for them.” 

“How could they not be happy with the likes of you?”

“I’m not a good man, Vanessa. A decent man, sure. A generous provider, undoubtedly, but a good man, a kind man, no. Not one bit. I’m a neglectful father at best, and as a husband, well. . . let’s just say marriage has been one of my most splendid failures.” He winked at her and raised the bottle again to his mouth. “I’m fairly certain Gladys despises me. I know in the beginning she simply despised my absences, but now she actually despises me. And I cannot say I blame her. I was a fool to consider pursuing my own fame and glory could humor another human heart besides my own, but here we are.”

“You could stay.”

“Ahhh, certainly. I could. But I would be miserable and in my misery I would torment everyone in my path. My family would come to hate me even more in actuality than they simply could ever hate the concept of me while I am away.” 

“I find that difficult to believe.” Vanessa considered the man before her who seemed to genuinely struggle with the topic set before him, but also seemed determined to maintain his path. 

“You would not find it so difficult to believe were I to stay,” he sighed. “Oh, I wonder though, enchantress that you are, if the thrill of discovering you in the maze would be enough to tempt and placate my savage soul. Hmph,” he grunted at the fire and shook his head. He stuck the bottle into his mouth and drank to prevent himself from saying more. 

“How did you become this man?”

“How does anyone become anything? Expectations? Passions, lust, greed. Life takes a course and you go along with it. It’s an almost impossible flow to stem. Perhaps it is one of the reasons I am so enchanted with the Nile; the seemingly endless nature. But surely this can’t be interesting for you.”

“It is though. I love when you speak to me this way.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” she said as he passed the bottle back to her and she sipped again. This time the liquor did not burn her throat as much, but served to warm her. He watched her lips on the rim of the bottle and felt his abdomen tighten. 

“I’ve not spoken to many in this manner. How odd it would feel so right to speak so plainly with you.” He stretched his legs out before the fire which crackled and popped. The rain kept its persistent beat above their heads. 

“Or perhaps not odd in the slightest, Sir Malcolm.”

“Vanessa, my dear?” He smiled at her and she regarded him expectantly. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, well, when we are alone, like this, you need not address me as Sir.” 

She smiled and flicked an eyebrow up at him. “Very well then, Malcolm,” she drew his name out almost preposterously on her tongue. 

“Oh you little wildling,” he murmured and came forward out of his chair and onto his knees before her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face in her dress, inhaling deeply her aroma of flowers and spice and rain. “What do you do to me?” Her fingers raked through his hair and tugged his ears so his face tipped up toward her. For a moment, their gazes lingered upon one another, the twilight horizon of hers met the misty sea of his, before they crashed into one another in a kiss that rivaled thunder and lightening. She opened her knees to accommodate the width of his body between her legs, so she could hold him closer. He stroked her face and neck and gazed upon her. “I shall miss you when I go.” He murmured and his words surprised him in their fervent passion. 

“I wish I were enough that I might content your heart to stay,” she whispered. 

“Dear girl, you are more than enough. You are all. You are a bigger and brighter treasure than these calloused, old hands deserve to touch. You must understand, it has nothing to do with you. If I were a different man. . . a younger more idealistic man. . . but as things stand, this is who I am, Vanessa. And even if I were to stay, you must know any future for us is foreshortened by my circumstances and by your need to secure a future. This is who we are. We must accept this.” He clutched her waist and found himself captured in her gaze. 

How odd she was, that way she had of staring at him, as though she were staring into his very soul. And what would she see there? What fortune could she possibly foretell? Or, more devastatingly, could she see his past? It was not his nature to contemplate his conscience so acutely, and he found himself confused and shaken. Maybe it was the brandy, but more likely it was the tidal pull of her stare, a force of nature the likes of which he’d stand little chance with in competition. 

He’d been feeble in his resistance to her, ever since she came to his study the night he returned, like a heavenly beacon in her lavender dress. Perhaps he should have fought it harder, but if self reflection wasn’t in his nature, denying himself pleasures of the flesh certainly wasn’t either, especially when it presented itself in such a fresh, young form. These mental machinations hardly seemed to mean anything at all, and there seemed no such thing as right or wrong. There was only Vanessa, staring at him with those timeless eyes, touching his face and caressing the spot where she had bit him earlier in such a innocently curious manner, as thought she were both surprised and proud of what she had inflicted upon his skin. 

She pushed off of her chair and knelt before him. Knee to knee they embraced. She shivered in his arms. “You’re still cold?” He asked.

“No. It’s not that,” she replied. 

“Then what?”

“When I am near you, like this, I feel a sort of madness overtake me. I’ve never known anything like it. It is not completely unpleasant, but I fear. . . I fear I shall lose my mind. I don’t know what it is.”

“You’re wet and chilly,” he said and started to part from her. “We should get you home so you can dry off properly.”

“No,” she said, her voice full of command. She pulled him back to her. “I need to be closer to you. I need to feel you, Malcolm. Help me.” Her eyes burned. She gripped and twisted the lapels of his shirt. He sat back and collected her against him, stroked the still damp fabric over her back and sought her mouth with his. As they kissed, she wrenched the buttons on his shirt free of their captors so she could open the cloth and feel the heat of his skin under her hands. He attempted to work the tiny buttons of her dress with his large fingers, and found himself completely clumsy. She laughed into his mouth and parted slightly from him to help with the fastidious work. 

“You do not laugh often, Vanessa, but when you do, it is as though I hear your very heart ringing with some sacred noise.”

“And you do not wax poetic often, Malcolm, but when you do it suits you and it pleases me.”

“I find myself wanting very much to please you,” he purred in her ear. She raised both of her arms over her head and for a moment, he looked at her in confusion. 

“My dress,” she said. “If you wish to please me, help me take it off. It is wet and sticks to me most unpleasantly.” He inhaled and lowered his eyes to search for the hem of her garment, which he then collected and began to strip up over her hips and torso. When he freed her from it, he stood, shook it out, and placed it over her chair near the fire. His eyes returned to her as soon as they possibly could. She knelt on the floor, clad in her chemise and petticoats, which were the color of faded autumn leaves and trimmed in delicate lace and blue ribbon. She’d crossed her thin arms over her chest, as though cold or modest.

He gasped, for a moment paralyzed by the vision set before him. When he remembered himself, he raced to the cot, grabbed the quilt and gave it a shake to release as much dust as possible. He brought it back and spread it onto the floor. Vanessa crawled onto it and he resumed his position at her side. 

“Are you certain you won’t be cold?” He asked. 

“I am certain you will warm me,” she whispered. “Hold me and kiss me, won’t you?” As he lowered her back onto the floor, he felt desire and guilt churn in him until it was one singular sensation, so well brewed he could not distinguish one feeling from the other. He wanted to warm her, to kiss her, to hold her. Indeed, he wanted to please her. It was another odd concept in his mind, this sudden desire to bestow upon another as opposed to simply taking for himself. He wrapped his arms around her so her head was cradled against him and pressed his chest against hers. 

“We are closer now. Is this better?” 

“In a sense, and yet it seems I burn hotter than ever,” she wriggled against him. “Do you suffer so, when you are near me?” 

“Mmmh, yes,” he sighed and licked her neck like an animal. “But I suppose I know how to stave the suffering until I might later relieve it,” he uttered almost without thinking. 

“Oh? And how does one do that?” Vanessa asked. 

“Have you never touched yourself?” He asked. 

“In the way you mean? I do not think so,” she said. “Our church has rules on such things.”

“And yet, here you are, little love.”

“Here I am, yes. I can ask forgiveness at a later date. Also a benefit of our church.”

“Vanessa,” Sir Malcolm chuckled and sucked on her chin. He bit her neck and chest and pushed her chemise aside, over her shoulders, to reveal her breasts. That night in the maze, it had been dark and his mind had imagined the tone and texture of her flesh, but here in this cottage, by the light of the fire and candles, he could see all. He could see the glorious, pure skin, softer than a white rose, and he could see how it responded in little blushes under his ardent lips. He rolled her nipple in his fingers and then put it between his lips and as she bucked her hips up against his urgent arousal, he felt he would spend right there in his trousers. His tongue danced over the hard ball of her nipple and he sucked hard, perhaps imagined the way he wanted to be sucked. She cried out and scratched his neck. He plucked up her petticoats and felt her over her pantalettes. She was so hot and she eagerly filled his hand with her sweet mound.

She grabbed his face and brought it to her own. “Will you take me now?” She asked and in her eyes he read a mixture of desperation and panic. 

“No, sweetheart, no,” he sighed. “I cannot do such a thing to you. But I can give you relief in another way, if you would like?” He fell into the pool of her eyes as she nodded.

“Yes.” 

“You are not afraid?”

“No. Not in the slightest.” 

“If you want me to stop, you must say so, and I will stop. Do you understand, little love?” He cupped her face and she nodded. “I must hear you say it, little love.”

“Yes. Yes, I understand, Malcolm.” She kissed him deeply and looked again at him and hissed, “Please.” 

He cradled her body close against his. Her petticoats were up around her waist, and her chemise had slipped down over her shoulders. In this unkempt state, with her dark hair strewn over his arm, she looked like a fallen angel. He kissed her as he undid the lace at the waist of her pantalettes. He slid them down over her delicate hips to expose the delta of sweetness between her thighs. He stroked her hips and noted how she responded by sighing and arching to his touch. His hand drifted down to her knees and then up between her legs, which she parted languidly for him. The moment his fingers met her moist, fertile valley was the moment he was certain his heart would stop, whether from ecstasy of from sin he hardly knew or cared. He groaned as he dredged his finger up through her silken cleft, and then turned his face to capture her lips most urgently. His heart somehow managed to continue beating. This fact surprised him. His fingers gently sought passage between her nether lips to find the aching bud. When he pulled his fingers away, she whimpered, but he shushed her as he put them into his mouth to moisten them with his own saliva, and then returned them to where she wanted them to be. Slick with his spit, they slid over her more easily. 

His eyes had been closed as he savored the physical sensation of touching her, but when he opened them, he found her regarding him with that curious cerulean stare. She encircled his neck with her fingers as she wiggled her hips under his fingers. “What do I do?” She asked.

“Nothing, love. Just feel it. Does it feel nice?”

“Yes,” she breathed as his fingers circled her bundle of nerves. She watched as he closed his eyes again and seemed enraptured to touch her. She focused on the sensation between her legs, where he touched her, where his fingers slid up and around in her most private of places. At first it felt like a butterfly beating its fragile wings down there with ever increasing velocity. And as it increased in friction and intensity, it felt more like the tension between two magnets fighting each other from their opposing poles. When she closed her eyes, patterns formed and danced like the lights and shadows of flames, but within her own mind. After a while, the tingling tension built and she felt beads of sweat break on her forehead as she pawed at his shirt and chest. “Kiss me!” She cried, feeling the need not just to kiss, but to bite his lips, to suck on them as she writhed and wept, as her breath grew frantic. 

“Do you want me to stop, Vanessa?” He asked.

“No,” she said short of breath as lightening flashed behind her eyes. “No, no don’t ever stop. No. Yes. Oh. Oh. God. Oh Malcolm! Oh!” He pushed just the tip of his index finger inside of her as she came because he was selfish and greedy and he wanted to feel her pulsations around some wretched part of him. She clung to him and tried to push his finger farther in, carried by wave after wave of her violent climax. And then she started to cry. “What happened?”

“It is normal and natural. It is the way of pleasure. Did it not feel nice?” He whispered and stroked her hair. 

“It felt. . . oh. . . Hold me tight.”

“Of course I will, and for as long as you wish, my little love.” He hated to take his finger from her center, but he did so he could enclose her in his embrace. He’d never heard his own voice so tender and abiding in his entire life, let alone after intimacy with a woman. He kissed her forehead and cheeks repeatedly and shushed her and whispered to her, “All is well.” 

“Did we just make love?” Vanessa asked at last.

“In a way, I suppose,” Malcolm chuckled. 

“And you, did you feel that thing as well?” 

“Not exactly,” he replied. 

“What would I have to do to make you feel as you just made me feel?” She asked in a resolute voice. “Might I touch you?” She covered his crotch with her hand. 

“No.” He said and tried to push her hand away from his stiff and swollen area. “It is not necessary.” 

“Let me rephrase,” she said. “I will touch you now. I must.” She fumbled with the buttons of his pants. Again, he pushed her hand away, but this time it was to hasten the undoing of his trousers and to shove them aside so his manhood could spring proudly forth. Vanessa sat up and her eyes widened as she examined the member that had joined them. Her hand fluttered over it, almost hesitantly and she looked back to his face. 

Sir Malcolm smiled and took her hand. He pulled it to his lips and kissed her fingers, then he brought them down between his legs and wrapped them around him. She settled herself back in his arms as he showed her how to stroke, easily up and down. Eventually, he let go of her hand and used his hand to fondle her breasts which were pressed up against his chest. She watched his face as his eyes rolled back and then closed. His mouth was half opened and she kissed it lustily as she tugged at the thick, hard thing between his legs. When he moaned, it reminded her of the noise he made the night of their first kiss, the noise that had frightened her and made her run away from him. But she was not frightened now. The primal heat of him in her hand gave her a heady sense of courage the likes of which she’d never known, but that thrilled her all the same. 

In whispered stories, she’d heard women had always been rendered obeisant, weak and careless when with their lovers, but that was completely opposed to what she felt as he flowed under her fist. It was a power unlike any other. She pressed her body against his as she touched him. She kissed his neck and nipped at his ear lobe and her hand grew almost frantic in its ministrations. 

She did not know to expect the hot seed that came in sudden spurts from him after a particularly enthusiastic grunt and groan. For a moment she thought she had done something to make him bleed and she glanced down between his legs, but saw nothing other than his member, glistening and sticky in her hand. She looked to his face and found he smiled almost foolishly at her. He then clasped her to his bosom and kissed her over and over, mumbling sweet things and nuzzling her adoringly. 

Nose to nose, they held one another before the fire. 

“Malcolm,” she whispered at last. “I love you.”

“I know, little love. I know.”

“I know you feel the same, I feel it, and yet I know you cannot tell me. Please. Please just say yes this is true.”

“Yes,” he whispered raggedly.

“I shall live on that syllable while you are gone,” she sighed and he felt her breath flutter over his chest.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FYI... In my head canon, Sir Malcolm never has his affair with Vanessa's mother so there is never any ambiguity about Vanessa's parentage. Just wanted to clarify that. . .

Many years later, Doctor Frankenstein asked Sir Malcolm what he termed a ‘difficult question’.

He asked if Vanessa had experienced sexual trauma in her life. He asked if she was intact.

Sir Malcolm bristled at the questions and stated that he knew not, nor would he place judgement either way on Miss Ives condition.

“My queries have nothing to do with your judgement on Miss Ives,” Frankenstein huffed. “I’m concerned with her physical condition, not with your moral wrestling.”

Frankenstein posited the fits Vanessa suffered could have been brought on by some deep psychosexual manifestation. Sir Malcolm poured himself a hearty drink, not his first of the day.

“Might I posit you kindly go and fuck yourself with your theories?” Sir Malcolm grumbled. Frankenstein blinked several times, but did not move from his spot in the drawing room. Sir Malcolm paced. Oh the euphemisms! _Psychosexual responsiveness! Intact! Fits! Condition!_

Sir Malcolm stormed, already somewhat drunk, from the room. Frankenstein’s words echoed in his head. “I believe, the root of her condition lies in this sexual trauma, and in the guilt she harbors as a result of it.”

Sir Malcolm climbed the stairs and passed Sembene on his approach to her door. He let himself in, and as he arrived at Vanessa’s bed, he could not but help see her eyes as she walked from him that day, the clouded confusion. She’d let go of his hands outside of the cottage with utmost reluctance. She’d stumbled back toward her home, missing a part of herself that he now held, and a part of him didn’t even truly want to hold it. It was a holding of something stolen the weight of which would crush him.  Another part of him longed to call her back and hold her fast, but he watched her go all the same. She’d soaked the front of his shirt with her tears and begged him to stay with her, but the fire had died and he was tired. So tired. So he kissed her and promised her sweet things and sent her off through the trees toward the warmth of her own house and family.

He went home to his, but not without the haunting of her red rimmed eyes beckoning to him from across the forest, and not without the sound of her voice in his ear, and not without the ghost of her breath on his chest.

For all he hated her as she lie there now, in her own sweat and degradation, he could not help but ask himself if he had caused this all himself, if he was not the root of this condition, if he was not the crude definition which everyone else wanted to politely euphemise.


	11. Chapter 11

Vanessa crept home and up to her room. It was long past supper. She ignored the cries of her mother and stripped off her clothes. She offered no excuses for her late return, nor for the bruise on her wrist. She climbed into her bed. She shivered. Her mother ordered that the fire be built up. 

Vanessa stayed in bed and slept and wept and refused to eat for days. 

On the fourth or fifth day (she’d lost count) she heard Mina’s voice chime in the foyer. “Thank you Mrs. Ives! Yes, I will! Yes, we will miss him terribly, but he will write and he says it is to be a shorter expedition this time around.” 

There was a soft knock on Vanessa’s door. “Dearest, may I enter?” 

Vanessa raised her head off of the pillow to see Mina’s golden apparition in her doorway. “Yes,” she answered. “Of course.”

“Your mother says you’ve been ill these past days?”

“Yes. A cold. I’m better now.” 

Mina climbed onto Vanessa’s bed and curled up on the pillow next to her. “You look frightful! So pale! I knew you should not have stayed out in that storm.” She kissed Vanessa’s cheek. “Well, you do not feel feverish at least. That’s good! Sit up, I will brush your hair.” Vanessa did as she was asked and Mina fetched the silver backed brush from Vanessa’s dressing table. She returned to Vanessa’s bed and began to lightly stroke the bristles into the tangle of dark hair. As she did, Vanessa closed her eyes. Mina smelled of the Murray house, an interesting blend of leather and flowers and whatever soap they used to wash their laundry. Vanessa inhaled deeply, remembering Malcolm’s chest under her cheek, how deep and thick his voice sounded with her ear pressed against him. She began to prickle between her legs and the sensation made her want to cry with an awful mix of confusion, shame, and desire. Mina swept the thick hair off of Vanessa’s shoulder and gave her a little kiss on her neck. “There we are; much better!” 

“Thank you,” Vanessa managed to mumble as she squeezed the tears back in her eyes. 

“It is bright and warm out today. Would you feel up to a walk? I could help you dress.” Mina suggested. 

“Perhaps that would be nice,” Vanessa said. She had lain in bed almost in hiding from Sir Malcolm, and from everyone, over the past few days as she processed what had happened between them in that cottage. She’d felt too weak to even climb to her knees and pray for absolution for all of the sins she’d committed. And she’d committed them so eagerly. Perhaps she couldn’t kneel because she felt she was unworthy of forgiveness this time. But now, as she contemplated dressing and going for a walk with Mina, she felt almost desperate to see him, to speak with him, to feel the pressure of his hand on her body and know he was real and constant. 

“Wonderful!” Mina said. She sprang from the bed and started to rifle through Vanessa’s things to assemble an outfit. Vanessa swung her legs over the side of the bed. 

“Not the beige dress,” she said. “Perhaps the blue one.” 

“Oh yes, the blue will bring out your eyes and brighten your complexion considerably.” Mina set to opening Vanessa’s wardrobe to find an appropriate petticoat. “If you are feeling well enough, you’ve been invited to supper with your parents as well. We are so lonely now that father’s gone.”

“What?”

“Yes. Father left yesterday for Africa. He caught an earlier ship and was off before we even knew it, or at least it seemed so. It always seems that way when he leaves. The house seems especially desolate.” Mina sighed heavily and pouted her pink lips as she thrust a set of undergarments toward Vanessa. 

“So,” Vanessa swallowed. “So, he is gone then?” 

“And all his equipment with him.”

“Oh,” Vanessa sat back on her pillows. “Oh, Mina, I. . . “

“What is it Nessa?” Mina came at her and touched her forehead. “You are flushed. Shall I get your mother?”

“No. I don’t need Mother. I’m sorry. I’m unwell,” Vanessa whispered. “I don’t feel up to the walking after all. Please give my apologies to your mother as well. I. . . I must rest now.”

“Shall I lie with you, my love?” Mina asked. 

“No, dearest. No,” Vanessa said and turned her face into her pillow so Mina could not see the tears that seeped wantonly from her eyes. Mina closed Vanessa’s curtains and kissed the back of her raven head. 

“Rest well Nessa,” she whispered. And then she left the room.


End file.
